


The Duty of the Old

by Rhaized



Category: His Dark Materials (TV), His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman, The Golden Compass (2007)
Genre: Adventure, Angst, Asriel Dies, Both Lyra and Mrs. Coulter POV throughout, Canon Divergence, Chapters 16 and 18 specifically with the child abuse/station work, Child Abuse (through the work of the station), Gen, Gobblers are still starting their work, Lyra gets to experience a softer side of Mrs. Coulter, Mother-Daughter Relationship, Mrs. Coulter is caught between everything, Politics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:48:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 75,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26193664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhaized/pseuds/Rhaized
Summary: Lyra didn’t make it to the Retiring Room in time to warn Lord Asriel about the Tokay. As a result, Mrs. Coulter came to Jordan College much quicker than she’d anticipated, before whispers of the Gobblers had reached the city of Oxford. Together, the two start a new life in London, while tensions are still rising across the North.
Relationships: Lord Asriel & Lyra Belacqua, Lyra Belacqua & Marisa Coulter, Lyra Belacqua & Roger Parslow
Comments: 146
Kudos: 266





	1. Mourning

**Author's Note:**

> "And me and Pan were thinking just now, what if I'd never gone into the wardrobe in the retiring room at Jordan and seen the Master put poison in the wine? None of this would have happened, either."  
> —The Subtle Knife, Ch. 13: Æsahættr, p. 234

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lyra gets some terrible news and Mrs. Coulter makes an unexpected visit to Jordan College.

**CHAPTER 1**

**Mourning**

Lyra and Roger were balancing on flagpoles on the College's east wing, both red-faced and wobbly as their daemons cheered them on. 

It wasn't as reckless as it seemed. The flagpoles were on the roof, of course, but on a raised awning. If one of them were to fall, they'd have solid ground to hang onto. Their daemons could also change into whatever animal they wanted to help pull them back up if they slid a little too close to the edge. It'd happened to Lyra a few weeks before. She'd miscalculated her step on a chimney and had almost swung off, but Pan changed into a black panther and bit hard into her shirt sleeve to pull her back. Lyra had been pleased, but Mrs. Lonsdale had been upset at the tear in the one new blouse she'd gotten that spring. It now had an ill-fitting patch sewed in, which Lyra laughed at and called her badge of honor for having a fast-acting daemon. 

They were struggling to keep their balance now, with Roger huffing a bit as his legs started to shake more than they had before. 

"You can do it, Roger!" Sarcilia called to him, wagging her tail as a golden retriever. She had a fierce look in her eyes, as she was _definitely_ the more competitive of the pair. "Don't let go! Just hang on!" 

"You've got this, Lyra," Pan offered to her, sitting calming on the rooftop below her as a tabby polecat. Lyra grinned in his direction, appreciating his full confidence in her. He knew she wasn't struggling and could keep going for hours and hours if they had to. Balance was one of their strong suits. Lyra didn't know if there was anyone else in the entire city of Oxford who could balance as well as she could. She was a reigning champion, after all—or would be very soon. 

After a few more moments of some wild swinging on both of their parts (though mostly for show on Lyra's end), Roger finally fell, Sarcilia howling in disappointment and Roger laying down on the shingles to catch his breath and give his legs a break. 

"You owe me some chocolatl when we get back to the kitchens," Lyra taunted softly, jumping back down to the roof easily and then sitting down next to him. 

From that angle they could oversee the river and look at some of the boats and airships passing through. It was mid afternoon by now, given the sun's position in the sky, so the day wasn't quite over but wouldn't last for too much longer. Lyra hated that feeling, of knowing something is going to end soon. The time of day didn't matter much to her as her lessons at the College were entirely sporadic when the Scholars remembered to educate her, but as a kitchen servant, Roger had to go back to work for each meal. He was an orphan and depended on this job for lodging and security. Lyra wouldn't risk that for him, even if she wished he could play with her all throughout the day. 

She preferred the mornings, she determined, as it was the part of the day that was young and felt like it could last forever, even when one of them had to go back to work or sit in for a lesson. She was always so hopeful in the morning, at the promise of a new day. Anything was possible. 

A large zeppelin caught both of their attention as it neared the landing garden several yards below them, moving slow and steady. Lyra squinted at it, trying to read the company. She knew a certain amount of them and was trying to determine if it was one of the companies her Uncle Asriel used. He was supposed to be coming in today, although she hadn’t expected it to be so soon.

"I think it's him!" Roger squealed, pointing to a blue icon to the left of the chopper. "Do you see that there?" 

"Yes! Race you back to the entrance hall?" 

She let him win this one. Part of her still felt bad that he'd so quickly lost the balancing challenge. Lyra was quicker and more nimble than Roger, even for a girl. They were both 11 and both rather small and skinny, but it just came easier to her, for whatever reason. Roger struggled, but Lyra thrived, learning how to do more and more each day. Maybe she was simply strong like her Uncle Asriel, and like her father who she'd never met. And maybe her mother was skinny, too, with good balance and a daemon who _also_ was fast-moving and quick on his feet.

Lyra found that she thought about her dead parents like this often, mostly quite randomly when she vaguely wondered what it was she was good at and had inherited. It wasn’t sad, really, but just the way it was. 

Once they'd gotten back inside, Roger was ushered over to the kitchens, reprimanded for dirtying his uniform and getting his hands all dirty. As Lyra made to follow them, hoping to sneak in a chocolatl before dinner, a member of the cooking staff stopped her. 

"No can do, Lyra," the man—Mr. Dawson with a border collie daemon—said to her, although softly. The servants all loved her at Jordan and tried not to be too hard on her if they could help it. _Especially_ when her uncle was back in town, for however briefly he was. "Looks like it's your lucky day because your Uncle Asriel's zeppelin is landing. Last I heard you gotta go at least wash up your face and change your clothes before seein' him. Mrs. Lonsdale is waitin' upstairs."

Lyra grimaced at that last part, which didn't go unnoticed by her companions. Washing and cleaning wasn’t exactly her _favorite_ thing to do, which unfortunately Mrs. Lonsdale—one of the housekeepers most often assigned to care for her—was particularly fond of. Roger and Mr. Dawson both laughed, wishing her good luck as she stomped over toward the living quarters, Pan in tow as the slowest and laziest of sloths.

Thirty minutes later and she was clean (enough) and running back through the main halls again, growing more and more excited about her uncle’s arrival. Lord Asriel Belacqua was a famous explorer and one of the College’s most esteemed members. He’d made several ventures to the furthest regions of the North to study experimental theology in the College’s name. He was coming here today to give some kind of new proposal to secure funding for _top-secret_ research. At least, that’s what the cooks and other servants had been saying before Lyra went up to her room, and she trusted them as they eavesdropped on a lot of the Scholars’ conversations. Lyra didn’t know _what_ her uncle had been up to since it’d been a year since he’d visited her. He was always traveling to the North somewhere, _without her,_ which hurt her feelings more than she’d ever admit out loud.

Pan understood the feeling well, and hovered affectionately by her right ear in the form of a goldfinch sparrow.

As they dawdled in the main hall, they looked and glanced at the Retiring Room nearby, whose doors were open and looked as though it was being prepped for a meeting.

“We can’t go in there, Lyra!” Pan chided her, changing into a tiny black moth as Lyra decided to creep closer, looking around her to see if anyone was watching.

“Oh, don’t be a baby, Pan,” she scoffed, slipping inside the room. The first thing that caught her eyes was the bright light of the mahogany fireplace that lit the room from its spot at the center, flames ablaze. Lyra had never been in the Retiring Room before, as it was meant only for men and saved for special talks and visitors. It was bigger than she might have thought, with strange instruments glinting in the fading light of the day and large portraits of people she didn’t know towering over the main table. There were several armchairs that lined the table, green and, from the looks of them, quite deep. Lyra wondered if she’d sink to the bottom if she tried to sit down in one.

“Lyra,” came a deep, low voice from behind her. Jumping, Lyra turned to see the Master of Jordan College peering down at her from under his glasses, his crow daemon cawing from her perch on his shoulder.

“Oh, Master!” she exclaimed, thinking quick. She really _wasn’t_ supposed to be here, and she imagined she was breaking probably a dozen College laws by being there. “I thought I heard my Uncle’s voice, and wanted to see if he was here already so I could say hello.”

“Were you now?” the man said softly, his voice more amused than it was angry. He let out a sigh and then sat down on the chair nearest to them, gazing over at her. Lyra noticed, with her heart still pounding, that he didn’t sink to the bottom of it.

“Honest!” Lyra exclaimed, eyes wide. “Is he here yet? Oh, Master, I haven’t seen him in so long. Can’t I please stay here and be with him? Promise I won’t bother you or nothin’.”

The man smiled at her then—a sad, wise smile. It didn’t reach his eyes, however, as he continued to look at her. He explained to her the delicacies of the world and of knowing her place as a child (and as a woman, although he didn’t exactly say that), and then he sent her off, back to the kitchens to play with Roger before she had to wash up again for dinner with the Scholars and her uncle. 

_This isn’t fair,_ she thought to Pan as they skipped down the main hallway, passing by a servant with a big bottle of a golden liquid.

_Oh, hush,_ he thought back to her, in his favorite ermine form now as he led the way to the right and down the stone staircase toward the lower levels. _We’re lucky we got to see the room at all. Just wait until we tell Roger about the big fireplace we saw!_

And so Lyra went, down to the kitchens with her friend as the staff were all busy preparing the special banquet to be prepared for Lord Asriel and the rest of the Scholars. Lyra wanted to help, to peel a potato or something, _anything,_ but none of the staff would let her, telling her not to worry and to take a seat at the side of the kitchen to tell them a story. Lyra _loved_ stories and easily obliged, taking a deep breath and preparing to spin a tale from the very fabric of her being.

A few minutes into her tall tales, however, something happened. Another servant came into the room and whispered something to Mr. Dawson, whose eyes immediately found Lyra’s as she was talking about an armored bear that was rumored to be living in the sewers around the city. He turned to some other people, and then some murmuring broke loose. Someone else was gently urging Lyra off the stool and guiding her out of the kitchen. It happened within moments.

“What’s goin’ on?” she asked the man—Stanley, as she’d known him. He didn’t say anything as he quickly checked around them and headed up toward the living quarters. He was taking the long way around, she noticed, where hardly anyone ever went. 

_Something’s happened,_ Pan thought to her, turning back to his moth form and flying anxiously just in front of her. _But what? I don’t like this, Lyra._

_I don’t, either,_ she agreed, simply following Stanley while trying to see if anyone else would walk by and tell her what was happening.

When they reached her room, Stanley closed the door behind him and then went over to her window, sealing it shut with a key he held in his hands.

“Hey!” Lyra exclaimed, anger shooting through her voice as she charged over to him. “What do you think you’re doing to my window? That’s _mine!”_

“I’m so sorry, miss,” was all he said, looking back at her with such pain and emotion glittering in his eyes that Lyra was genuinely surprised. 

“Do I have to stay here until dinner?” she asked him as he made his way out the door again, turning to look at her before he closed it.

“Dunno, miss, but all I know is you’ve got to stay here until someone calls for you. I—I’m sorry, miss.” And with that the door was shut with the securing of a lock. Lyra was left to stare at it, puzzled and growing increasingly concerned that something very, _very_ bad was happening. 

It wasn’t for _hours_ —since well after dinner should have ended—that somebody came up to call for her. And it was the Master of Jordan College himself with the hardest news Lyra had ever had to hear in her entire life: her Uncle Asriel had an accident when he arrived in the College and now he was dead.

It was all a whirl as she was told to change into the darkest dress she owned and to meet the Butler outside her room to be escorted down to the main hall, where they were having some kind of gathering in her uncle’s name. Lyra could barely move. Pan changed into all kinds of different animals to try and encourage her, but she found it took her so much time to go over to her creaky wardrobe and comb through the various dresses that she’d amassed over the years.

Lord Asriel? _Dead?_ The idea was ridiculous. Lyra _couldn’t_ believe it. They must have made some kind of mistake, or Uncle Asriel must have fooled them somehow. He was smart, and there’s no way he’d have some kind of clumsy accident. What even _was_ the accident, Lyra wanted to know? What at _Jordan_ and not in _the North_ could possibly have happened? And why did it have to be here, at his very own College that took pride in all his discoveries and adventures? That took in his own niece to watch after while he went away on all his voyages?

As Lyra found a dark brown dress and slipped it on over her head, a sniff escaped from her. For quite possibly the first time, she felt truly and utterly alone. Pan howled beside her as a small snow leopard cub, his entire body shaking.

When she and the Butler arrived at the main hall, he left Lyra at a chair toward the back and then went away to go join the other servants. There were a lot of people gathered in the hall. Mostly older men with dark suits and gray hair and beards, but even a few younger ones with still-light and curly hair. It was all Lyra could do to sit down at the chair the Butler had pulled out for her, staring at the many people who passed her by and, increasingly more and more, came over to her to speak to her. It was all happening so fast. 

_I wish Roger was here,_ Lyra thought to Pan, feeling her chest almost start heaving as some ugly old man took her hands into his own and expressed his deep sorrows for the loss of her dear uncle. Roger would know what to do and how to make her feel better. He wouldn’t do _this,_ and torture her with talk of a man she'd been waiting all year to see and now would never see again. Roger knew her even better than anyone, even Uncle Asriel. 

At the thought, Lyra felt a tear finally escape from her eye, right as the Master was coming over to check in on her.

A woman entered the room just then and was gazing over at Lyra, watching as the Master exchanged a quick word with the girl before ushering the small group around her away and toward the other end of the table. His eye had briefly met the woman’s, and he nodded to her.

Lyra hardly noticed the woman at first, hugging herself in her chair with her daemon wrapped tightly in her lap. Lyra was trying very hard not to look at anyone else as they walked by. Those first few people had been too _much._ For the most part people saw her sitting there and respectfully walked away from her, but the few who had talked to her had made her feel worse by telling her what a wonderful man her uncle was and how important he was to their work and their lives. 

All these people knew Lord Asriel better than she did, Lyra realized, which made her want to cry because now she never had the chance to try and actually get to know him. _That_ was the moment in which Lyra began to cry in earnest now.

It was in the middle of a particularly shaky sniffle that the woman with a long black dress and shimmering golden money daemon approached her, reaching her arm out to offer her a scented tissue. Lyra looked up, her dark eyes meeting a soft set of blue. 

"I'm sorry to interrupt, miss, but it looks like you could use this."

Lyra didn't say anything as she took the tissue from her, pressing it roughly to her nose as she stared over at the woman. She was beautiful and young, with curly dark hair parted evenly on each side. Her dress was black and respectable, just as the Scholars' mourning robes were, but it was also stylish, too, yet not overly so. Pan was intrigued, lifting up his little ermine head to look at her. She dipped her head to him respectfully, lowering her eyes. With one more soft look at Lyra, she moved to turn around, until Lyra stopped her.

"Who are you?" she asked the woman, surprised at how even her voice was given the sobs that still lingered in her chest. The woman smiled and turned back around, taking a step closer. 

"My name is Mrs. Coulter,” she said, holding out her hand. Lyra hesitated, as both her hands were holding her very soiled tissue. Mrs. Coulter let out a light laugh as she moved to instead pat the side of Lyra's shoulder. Her touch was gentle. "I was an… acquaintance of your uncle."

Lyra felt her eyes pool again at the mention of her uncle. Pan felt it, too, and tried his best to comfort her by kneading lightly on her lap. 

"I'm sorry," Mrs. Coulter said then, moving closer and crouching down so they were at eye-level. More tears started to fall now, but this time, Lyra wasn’t as embarrassed. Mrs. Coulter was kind as she quietly gazed at her, a hint of her own sadness present as she moved a hand to lightly touch Lyra’s leg. 

They sat like that for a few minutes, Lyra trying to collect herself and Mrs. Coulter staying nearby, her presence oddly comforting in a way Lyra couldn’t fully understand. Once Lyra was ready, they began to talk to each other. Mrs. Coulter pulled up another chair and sat next to her, asking her about her life here at Jordan and what she did to busy her time. Before she knew it, Lyra was telling her _everything_ —the flagpoles on the roof, the Gyptian boats, the crypts beneath the College. Pan had thought a flash of warning over to her, but Lyra ignored it as she kept talking. Mrs. Coulter was nice, and this was the one thing Lyra was good at: talking. Telling stories. And it was the one thing that helped her regain strength in this moment.

They’d talked together for quite some time before Mrs. Coulter sighed and looked around at all of the men still gathered together, some getting louder and more boisterous now the more drinks that they’ve had.

"I know how... _unpleasant_ these things can be," Mrs. Coulter finally said, shifting her gaze to glance down at Lyra. All Lyra could do was nod, wishing she were _anywhere_ but here with these men and these stories about her uncle. Mrs. Coulter hadn’t mentioned him at all, after that first time. "Shall I ask the Master if I can escort you out for the evening? I daresay these things can drag out to be quite long." 

Lyra nodded again, eyes bright. Mrs. Coulter understood exactly what she wanted. 

_Why is she the only woman here?_ Lyra wondered then, watching as Mrs. Coulter wove her way through the groups of men to go find the Master. It did seem a bit strange, now that Lyra thought about it. Pan didn’t know, but his eyes followed the golden monkey, whose expression was less calm than his human’s. He seemed very upset as he looked around the room and clung to Mrs. Coulter’s legs, fidgeting with his hands. Humans and their daemons often visibly displayed different parts of themselves, and for a fleeting moment, Lyra wondered if Mrs. Coulter was hiding how upset she was, and if she had known Uncle Asriel more than she’d let on.

But Lyra forgot about that as Mrs. Coulter started heading back over to her. She hadn’t taken long. When she came back, she offered her hand out for Lyra to take. Lyra again hesitated because of the tissue, but Mrs. Coulter smiled with a knowing look and plucked the tissue out of her grasp, leaving Lyra free to hold her hand. 

"Where shall we go now?" Mrs. Coulter asked as they strolled out of the main hall, looking around at the torches and paintings hung along the stone wall. They walked like this for several minutes, aimlessly and unbothered. 

The truth was Lyra was completely and utterly exhausted from everything that had happened that day. She was also incredibly sad and still in a great state of disbelief. She could hardly believe it, but, seeing all these people, began to realize how _real_ it was. She felt tears building up inside her again, and her chest started to heave. In a moment Mrs. Coulter was there, leaning down to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear and stroke the side of her face. "I know, darling."

Perhaps it was the sadness of the woman's voice that caused Lyra to let out the cry she was holding and fall into the woman's embrace, resting her head on her shoulder and feeling her entire body shake. After only the slightest moment of hesitation, Mrs. Coulter held her tight and rocked her back and forth, making sympathetic sounds and running a hand through her hair. 

“Do you want to get ready for bed now?” the kind woman asked her, to which Lyra nodded from her spot on her shoulder.

When they made their way to her tiny bedroom, Lyra allowed Mrs. Coulter to wash her, which felt silly since she barely knew the woman but, at the same time, needed someone to help her. Mrs. Lonsdale was nowhere to be found, which might have worried Lyra under normal circumstances but not in this moment. She found it hard to think beyond her heightening emotions.

For whatever reason, she felt entirely comfortable and safe with Mrs. Coulter. The Master _had_ allowed Mrs. Coulter to take Lyra out of the hall, so he must know her. Even Pan allowed this and felt okay with it, although he still didn't entirely trust that golden monkey yet. The daemon’s anxiousness seemed intensified now, as he moved back and forth on his haunches and his eyes were distressed as he gazed up at the pictures of the North Lyra had hung up on the wall. 

"Is this the soap you have, Lyra?" Mrs. Coulter asked as the tub began to fill with water, holding up a small bar of yellow soap.

"Yeah," Lyra sniffed, kicking off her shoes under her little wooden desk. "We don't got much, but Mrs. Lonsdale says it's clean enough. And the bathwater might even be warm instead of cold if you leave it running long enough."

Mrs. Coulter nodded, looking from the soap to Lyra and then over to her handbag. There was something hidden in her eyes then. Lyra almost wanted to say disappointment, but that wouldn’t make sense. Pity? That was too strong, but something like that.

"You know," Mrs. Coulter said a few moments later, her face cleared as she raised one of her eyebrows in a mischievous way, "I happen to have some bath and bubble gel with me from having traveled just this afternoon. If it's alright with you, maybe I could…"

The answer was a resounding _yes_ before she even finished her sentence. The two shared a laugh. Lyra waited for the basin to warm up before taking off her clothes and all but jumping in, Mrs. Coulter averting her eyes respectfully as she stirred around the bubbles she had poured into the water by the tap. Lyra never had a bubble bath in her entire life. She knew they existed, but she didn't think she'd _actually_ get to have one. Mrs. Coulter smiled at the girl as she gathered up the bubbles and gave herself a mustache, looking at Pan and then dragging him in with her, against his will until he realized that he also liked it. Mrs. Coulter had some hair soap, too, and with Lyra's permission rubbed a bit into her scalp. It smelled like lavender as Mrs. Coulter gently moved her hands over Lyra's skull, not scraping or pulling like Mrs. Lonsdale did. 

Lyra felt tears pool up in her eyes again, not for Uncle Asriel this time but for the mother she'd never got a chance to meet and who never got to wash her hair like this. It was so hard, to keep all her feelings in check right now.

Once they'd finished and Lyra had dried off, Mrs. Coulter went to retrieve Lyra’s pajamas from the creaky wardrobe.

“Are these your pajamas?” Mrs. Coulter called out, holding up a thin, cotton nightgown whose thread was getting bare. Lyra nodded, and again Mrs. Coulter had that _look_ in her eyes as she got up and handed the gown over to Lyra, turning around as she changed. 

"Well, here you are, Lyra," said Mrs. Coulter a few minutes later as she tucked Lyra into her small, squeaky bed. Lyra smiled at her, looking into those shimmering eyes. There was something nestled within them that Lyra still couldn't quite identify, but she was too tired to try and figure it out, feeling herself start to yawn. 

"Are you going to be alright?" Mrs. Coulter asked after a few more beats, her eyes rounding with concern as she moved to stroke Lyra's face again.

The truth was Lyra didn't know. Everything had happened so fast; one minute she was playing with Roger on the roof watching Uncle Asriel’s airship land, then the next she was here, trying to make sense of his sudden _accident,_ as they’d kept referring to it. It was too much to take in. It was too much to sort through. 

"They didn't even tell me until the gathering started, you know," Lyra finally whispered, hating herself for the way the tears still threatened to spill. “They told me to stay in here, and I didn’t know.”

Mrs. Coulter simply gazed at her, the motion of her hand comforting. 

"All that time I thought he—I thought he was mad at me," Lyra continued, not even bothering to hide the crack in her voice now. She felt snot drip from her nose, too. “I thought it was ‘cause he found out I was on the roof or somethin’, and was trying to teach me a lesson about being too wild. It—I never would have thought he’d, that he’d be…”

She couldn’t find it in herself to say it out loud. She could say it to herself, and with Pan, but not out loud. Not to the world and the universe. That would make it real, for her to finally say it. She gulped just then as her throat started to tighten, the severity of it setting in. 

"I'm sure you miss him very much," Mrs. Coulter whispered at that point, her hand still moving through Lyra’s damp hair. Her eyes were soft and sad, but flecked with something unreadable.

"No," Lyra answered, surprising the both of them. It was then that Lyra felt a giant lump in her throat. "I…miss what could have been, 'cause the truth is, I feel like I hardly even knew him. He was all I got left, and…I didn't even know him."

That was the kicker. It all came oozing out, and Lyra should be embarrassed, to act like this in front of a literal stranger. Mrs. Coulter was kind and caring and seemed like such a wonderful lady, but Lyra barely knew her. It was mostly Pan pushing those feelings on her, feeling slightly nervous as the golden monkey stroked his fur to try and calm him, seeming to barely be holding it together himself. But Lyra realized at that moment she didn't care and that she could use all the attention she could possibly get in that moment, even from a complete stranger.

“I’m sorry,” Mrs. Coulter said, not once but over and over again as Lyra cried and the woman held the child closer to her. Her voice was heavy and thick as she kept saying, “I am so sorry, Lyra.”

Lyra must have cried herself to sleep, because after a while, everything faded to black and all she felt was warmth. She then found herself opening her eyes. It was still dark out as she looked over at the window.

It all came rushing back, and Lyra had to bite down the emotions that came to her then, completely washing over her. It was too much. Being locked in the room, the news, all the sad people wearing black, the kind lady who had taken care of her...

"Where did she go?" she heard Pan whisper, changing into a snowy owl to see through the dark. Her room was entirely still and empty. There was no one there.

Maybe she was just a dream, Lyra wondered, moving to her other side and closing her eyes again, feeling Pan nestle closer to her as a cat. Maybe the woman hadn't been there at all. Maybe she had only been a dream, fabricated in her head to sooth Lyra as she was hurting. Maybe Lyra needed to go back to sleep to be able to see her again. And so all Lyra could do was close her eyes again, feeling sleep creep its way back over her.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know why, but I randomly wondered how Lyra's life might have turned out differently had Asriel been taken out in the beginning as planned (and I later found that quote toward the end of The Subtle Knife where Lyra wondered this, too, apparently!). So sorry for all the Asriel fans out there! But I also wanted to imagine Mrs. Coulter taking a more active role in Lyra's upbringing, and wanted to write a story where she got to be more of a mother (and not just a babysitter). I also wanted to explore Lyra's grief that would, I think, really change her dynamic with Mrs. Coulter. This story will also explore how else the events in the North and in the Magisterium could have shaken out (but I am not in any way a mastermind so probably can't come up with an elaborate plot about the prophecy, although I will try to work with all the events!). 
> 
> This story thus diverges from a few key canon events/contexts. I'll update the tags/characters as I continue writing. I also, for the sake of this story, am writing a softer Mrs. Coulter: one who is more in tune with her feelings for Lyra and who would be affected enough by Asriel's death to want to try and be better, even if she knows that she can't. 
> 
> I've slowed down on my updating as I've gotten obsessed with other fics, but I aim to update as soon as I can as this story is very dear to my heart. Thanks for checking this out!


	2. Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Asriel's funeral, time spent with Mrs. Coulter, and an offer Lyra finds almost impossible to refuse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really enjoying writing Lyra's experiences here, even though she's so sad! I imagine this would be such a hard ordeal for her, as well as for Mrs. Coulter. The two of them together is perhaps my favorite thing about the entire series, so even under these circumstances, I am here for it. 
> 
> I've been working on the next few chapters and am planning to explore Mrs. Coulter's perspective next time. Thanks so much for reading!

**CHAPTER 2**

**Morning**

When Lyra woke up for real the next morning, she felt heavy and tired. And stiff. It was as if she had never slept at all. This time she _did_ remember everything, and allowed herself a moment to feel it. She curled up in her bed and pulled her knees close to her chest. Pan wrapped himself around her neck in his white ermine form, licking her nose gently. It was hard. He knew that it was so unbearably hard. It was probably the hardest thing they’ve ever had to go through in their short lives.

There came a knock at the door and, for a moment, Lyra’s heart began to race a little faster, wondering if it was Mrs. Coulter. She’d determined that the woman _had_ been real after all. She was very kind to Lyra, comforting her and taking care of her the way that she had. Lyra also remembered how the woman had washed her hair and could appreciate how _good_ the perfumed scent was. It was feminine in a way that Jordan College never was. It was enticing and appealing. And it was something Lyra wanted more of.

But instead of Mrs. Coulter, it was one of the servants, warning her that breakfast would be served in ten minutes and she’d better get ready in time.

“I don’t think I can eat anything,” Lyra said quietly into her pillow, still laying in bed with her knees pressed against her chest.

“You have to try,” her daemon urged her. Pan jumped into the air as a sleek bald eagle, showing off as he flew around in circles and dove down to the ground in a deep dive. 

It didn’t cheer Lyra up, though, as such a thing normally would. Now that she’d had some time to sit with the pain that was Lord Asriel’s death, she didn’t think she could ever be cheerful again. She felt hollow inside, like she was there but with nothing inside her. And that’s what surprised Lyra the most, because she’d never felt quite that sad before. This was a new and scary thing for them. She felt robbed of her happiness. 

The servant escorted her down to the dining hall, not saying a word or even glancing once at her. Lyra didn’t mind. She appreciated the space and the quiet. The College was always a bustling place to be, but today it felt somber and empty. It was still in mourning, it seemed, as the torches flickered and the hallways looked even gloomier than usual. Every part of it was giving its sad goodbye to Lord Asriel Belacqua of Jordan College in Oxford, Brytain. 

When they arrived at the tables, Lyra was expecting to go grab a seat next to one of the servants when the light clicking of heels rang throughout the room. She turned to see Mrs. Coulter walking over to her, wearing a dark teal pantsuit with her hair pulled up into a neat, tidy bun.

“Lyra,” she called out to her, stopping a foot or so away from her. “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” Lyra parroted back. She found herself staring at the woman. She'd decided that Mrs. Coulter had been real, to be true, but she hadn't expected to actually see her again. It was almost like one of those stupid fairytale stories Mrs. Lonsdale had tried to read to her, about how some fairy godmother comes along to help out the princess and then vanishes as soon as her work is done. Not that Lyra believed in any of that, of course, which perhaps meant she shouldn't be so surprised to see Mrs. Coulter standing in front of her and smiling. 

“May I sit with you during breakfast?” Mrs. Coulter asked, as if reading the question that was lingering in Lyra’s mind. Her eyes were soft and warm again, as they had been last night. Looking over at the golden monkey, however, Pan saw much of what he had seen before: deep sorrow. The contrast unsettled him, but didn’t seem to bother Lyra.

The two made their way over to one of the center tables, telling the servers their orders and helping themselves to something to drink. Mrs. Coulter took a pitcher of orange juice and poured Lyra a glass before pouring herself a cup of coffee with a splash of cream and two scoops of sugar. 

"I like my coffee sweet," the woman explained, smirking. "I think my mother gave me too much chocoltyl as a child because now I can't stand anything bitter."

Lyra let out a high-pitched giggle, which was _most_ uncharacteristic of her. Even Pan looked sideways at her from his spot on her shoulder, ermine ears twitching slightly. Mrs. Coulter simply smiled and proceeded to comment on the dress Lyra was wearing. She then offered to adjust Lyra's hair once breakfast was done, for although she hadn't said it, Lyra knew it was flat and terrible looking since she hadn't even bothered to comb it after she woke up. 

Once they'd finished their eggs, bacon, and biscuits, Lyra wasn't sure what she was supposed to do. It was weird, living in this in-between space after someone's death. Everything felt so heavy and so serious in a way she wasn't used to feeling. She looked shyly at Mrs. Coulter, who was looking intently at a spot just over Lyra's head. She wasn't looking _at_ her but seemed to still be looking _through_ her somehow. 

"How are you holding up?" Mrs. Coulter finally asked, her voice soft. Her gaze slid to look down at Lyra now. Again, Lyra was taken by how much emotion glittered in their depths. 

"I'm…here," Lyra answered. She could tell Mrs. Coulter understood by the way she nodded slowly, eyes still raking over Lyra's face. 

"You know, today is the funeral." Mrs. Coulter said the last word delicately, but still Lyra bristled. Pan changed into a young raven as he stood on her shoulder, fluffing his wings as they both fought to control the stream of emotions that threatened to burst from them.

"Yes," Lyra said, voice stoic.

"Do you understand how such things work for academics?"

"We attended a Scholar's funeral once," she recalled, thinking back maybe three or four years ago when that ancient man from France had died and Uncle Asriel made her wear a stiff and tight black dress. It was itchy and she hated it but she had to do it and they had to stand outside by the Scholar's coffin. She felt herself quake at the memory, looking up at Mrs. Coulter again. 

"You'll be expected to stay strong, Lyra," the woman told her, reaching over to take her hand. Mrs. Coulter's hands were soft and smooth, Lyra noticed. Almost like butter. 

"I know," she answered, still staring at the way the woman's hands gently moved her fingers over Lyra's knuckles. 

"What is it?" Lyra looked up just then, as Mrs. Coulter leaned forward to stare at her— _really_ stare at her. Her eyes were flowing with that _look_ from last night. Not pity, not disappointment, but...guilt? No, that couldn't possibly be it, although Pan didn't seem entirely unconvinced. 

"Nothin'," Lyra answered, although her voice betrayed her. 

"You can tell me," Mrs. Coulter encouraged her. The woman's voice was as sweet as honey and was possibly the nicest thing Lyra had ever heard. "I want to help you. What's the matter, dear?" 

"I still don't know what happened," Lyra all but whispered, eyes locked on her now-empty glass of orange juice. She couldn't see Mrs. Coulter but she knew she was listening. "The Master said it was an accident, but…what kind?" Lyra looked up at the woman then, aware of her eyes beginning to cloud from the tears welling up. "How could he have gotten into an accident? He'd just landed! He was…he was just _here,_ b-before I even got to see him!" 

Her voice was raised and it was starting to carry. Mrs. Coulter was looking at the tables around them, her gaze hard in their directions and then softer when they returned to Lyra. Her daemon, as Pan vaguely noticed, was under the table. It only lasted a minute, but Pan almost could have swore he saw Mrs. Coulter digging her nails into his neck, as if she were _hurting_ him. But the thought was preposterous, for hurting one's daemon was akin to hurting oneself. And no one would do that to themselves. 

"Let's go back up to your room," Mrs. Coulter suggested sweetly, rising from her seat without waiting for an answer. "We can see what we do about that hair."

They were holding hands again as they walked through the College, which again felt extra cold and quiet on this damp spring morning. Mrs. Coulter seemed to remember the way up, making a right at the staircase and then going up to the fourth floor. Lyra let her guide the way. Pan trotted beside the golden monkey daemon as an alert fox terrier. It was weird, to be as _obedient_ as she was now. Like one of the servants in the kitchen or on the cleaning staff. But Lyra didn’t really care about that. She didn't care about anything. 

"There you are," Mrs. Coulter said once she'd fixed Lyra's hair in her room. She’d combed it thoroughly and fixed the part so that it was even across the middle of her head. She showed Lyra what it looked like by holding up a hand mirror for her. Lyra nodded before looking away. Pan flopped down on the floor as a tabby cat, laying across his side and breathing deeply. 

Mrs. Coulter watched, her brow slowly starting to furrow.

“Do you have a dress picked out already?” Mrs. Coulter asked after a minute or so. 

Lyra just shook her head, suddenly feeling detached from herself, as if she weren’t really there in the room. She could see Pan laying there, and the golden monkey, and Mrs. Coulter, but didn’t feel like she was _with_ them. That didn’t even make sense. Did it?

"Oh, Lyra," Mrs. Coulter sighed then, coming closer to put her hand on the girl's shoulder. Lyra looked up expectantly, but all Mrs. Coulter did was continue to stare at her, multiple feelings fighting in those soft, blue eyes. “You have to be strong now, Lyra. I know it hurts. But it’ll still hurt later, once this is all over and done with.” She paused as Lyra looked up at her, a couple more tears rolling down her face. Mrs. Coulter wiped them away with her hand, giving her that _look_ once more before standing up and going over to the wardrobe.

Mrs. Coulter had accompanied Lyra down to the funeral service, making a quick stop at the room she was using to change into more black clothes. The dress was stylish again although solid black this time. It was long-sleeved and made of a soft, smooth silk. Lyra felt it brush against her arm every so often as they walked out to the grounds. It made her shiver, sort of, causing even Pan to stop and shake his fur coat as they walked.

When they arrived at the service itself, the Master greeted them.

“Hello, Lyra,” he said in his low, solid voice, dipping his head to her and taking her hands into his own. "Has Mrs. Coulter been treating you well?" 

Lyra nodded, turning to see Mrs. Coulter smile down at her and lay a hand on top of her head briefly before slipping away into the crowd. 

"She's quite the accomplished woman," the Master said as he led Lyra over to the service. 

"Yeah," she answered, feeling herself blush. "I think she's great. I think she's the most wonderful person I've ever met."

The Master said nothing, his face passive as he continued to guide Lyra forward. 

What Lyra saw there just about made her stop dead in her tracks: a deep mahogany casket with a large photogram of her uncle on display on the side. It was one of his College photos, Lyra knew, as he was clean-shaven and had only the hint of his signature smirk on his face. In a weird way, she almost wished that one of his explorer photograms had been hung instead. She had a nice one back in her room of when he and Stelmaria had first gone to Svalbard. Uncle Asriel wore a long, furred jacket and had a pair of goggles over his head. He looked so happy. Lyra decided that she wanted to remember him happy, and so wanted to remember not this photogram but that one from the North. 

A lot of other people were there—a lot of Scholars, a lot of Gyptians, some local folk from around Oxford, and even some _Magisterium_ people, which seemed odd to Lyra. She didn’t know much about the Magisterium, but she knew enough from what the Scholars said to know that Uncle Asriel didn’t care for them and wouldn’t have wanted them at his funeral. Pan turned into a polecat and hissed at them. Lyra kicked him lightly, though, as they shouldn't be so rude. Not in Uncle Asriel's honor like this. 

The Master left her to go and say hello to the guests as other people started piling in. For the second time, Lyra felt so alone. She scanned the groups looking for Roger, for Billy, for _anyone_ else she knew who could perhaps keep her company. But she couldn’t see them. She was stuck at the front with some of the Scholars she never talked to, since the ones she _did_ talk to were busy with the arrangements. Pan changed into a small bat, curling up inside Lyra’s coat. 

Eventually, the music started playing and Lyra was ushered by someone to sit up front in a very small row of chairs at the center. There was a small sign that read “immediate family” on it. Lyra sat down, Pan peeking out of her coat, and quietly waited. When she thought about it, she didn’t know about anyone else in her family—in the Belacqua family or even her mother's family. There was her father, but she didn’t know if she had any grandparents or other aunts and uncles. She didn't know anything about her mother's family at all. She supposed she didn't have any, since she probably would have been taken to live with them instead of being sent here to Jordan. It was yet another painful reminder to Lyra that she had no family. No family _left,_ at any rate, because even for as absent as he was, she’d always had her Uncle Asriel.

Lyra felt another great sob start to shake her. No one else was going to join her in this little set of chairs. She didn’t have any other family.

Just then, she felt a soft hand brush over her shoulders. Lyra looked up to see Mrs. Coulter come around from behind the line of chairs, taking the seat next to her. "Hello again, Lyra."

Whispers broke out from all behind them. Lyra looked to see the Gyptians in particular staring at the woman and pointing, heads bent together and mouths moving rapidly. Even the Scholars looked affected, eying the pair with faint interest before turning their attention back to the organist or back over to the casket as they bowed their heads in prayer.

“Why is everybody whisperin’?” Lyra asked the woman, still staring all around them.

Mrs. Coulter smiled—without it reaching her eyes, however—and then tilted Lyra’s head to focus on her instead of all the people. “Just ignore them, darling. I’m here to sit with you, and to be here for you. They’re going to get started with the service in a moment.”

Indeed they did, with a priest coming to the front of a podium stamped with the Magisterium “M” as he spoke about the great loss of a great man. A few other speakers came up to talk, including the Master and the Librarian. They spoke of him in such _plain_ language, Lyra realized, not going into any details about his work or his character and instead speaking in vague terms of his “attributes” and what he “brought to the College.”

“It sounds like they’re not saying anythin' about him at all,” Lyra whispered aloud to Mrs. Coulter, glancing over at her. The woman was staring directly at the people speaking, her eyes hard and her right arm wrapped tightly around her daemon. Pan remembered how he had seen her clutch him tightly before, and wondered if she was doing so again now.

“No, they’re not,” Mrs. Coulter whispered back, her mouth moving to curve into a smile. “He would absolutely _hate_ this.”

Lyra smiled at that, for it was true. Her uncle was a proud and boisterous man, and to be spoken about in such boring and empty words would have driven him mad. Lyra shifted closer to Mrs. Coulter and slipped her arm under hers, resting her head against Mrs. Coulter’s shoulder. She felt a sudden need to be close to her, as the music kept playing and it was getting more and more serious. The woman jumped a bit at the contact but then relaxed, releasing her hold on the monkey to place her other hand on top of Lyra’s.

During that moment, Lyra thought everything didn’t quite hurt as much.

When they were finished with the service, it was time for the family to say goodbye. Again whispering broke out as Lyra and Mrs. Coulter stepped over to the platform where the casket sat. Lyra got the impression that she was supposed to _do_ something, but she didn't exactly know what. With a flash of nervousness, she realized that these things didn't exactly come with an instruction manual, telling you what to do and how to do it. She felt lost, consumed by her own grief but also with a high pressure to perform in the ways everyone around her expected. 

"Take this, Lyra," Mrs. Coulter whispered after a few seconds. She handed Lyra a single red rose. "You should put it on your uncle's casket and say a little prayer for him."

Lyra took the stem from Mrs. Coulter, gasping as a thorn pricked her finger and the tiniest amount of blood began to pool on her skin. She ignored it and instead thought about what she'd say in her prayer. _Have we ever prayed before?_ she thought to Pan. He simply shrugged, straight faced in his young raven form again. 

After a light nudge from Mrs. Coulter, Lyra stepped forward, placing the rose carefully on her uncle's casket. She heard a photographer snap a photogram from somewhere to the side. 

"Dear Uncle," she said out loud, though only loud enough for Mrs. Coulter and the priest to hear. "I hope you find peace. And… I hope you find new research in heaven and in the sky." Pan almost swore he heard a sharp intake of breath from Mrs. Coulter at those words, but Lyra didn't hear them. Besides, she had to focus on what they were doing. She was finding herself with nothing else to say yet not wanting to leave. 

Another thought occurred to her. Looking back at Mrs. Coulter, whose eyes were oddly glazed now, Lyra pulled out the smooth Walrus tusk she'd tucked inside her pockets earlier in the day. It was the last present her uncle had given her. He brought it back from the North a couple years ago and had teased her relentlessly until finally coughing it up and handing it over to her. 

"My uncle gave this to me," Lyra explained to Mrs. Coulter, holding it up for her to see. "He brought it back to me from the North. The North was his most favorite place to be, and I think…I think he'd like this with him, too."

Mrs. Coulter seemed at a loss for words at that, her eyes boring into Lyra's with such intensity and such sadness that Lyra worried the woman was going to burst out crying right there in front of all those people. 

"Wait," Mrs. Coulter eventually let out as Lyra turned to place the tusk on the casket. She closed Lyra's hands over it. "I think your uncle would want you to keep it. It's something you can remember him by."

Lyra nodded, privately relieved that she didn't have to part with it. The tusk was her favorite possession and not something she'd easily part with, especially now. As she gave one long, last look at the casket and then turned away, she expected Mrs. Coulter to immediately follow her. Instead, she lingered by the casket, another rose clutched in her hand. More whispering broke out, and Lyra thought she heard another photogram being taken. 

"Goodbye, Asriel," the woman whispered, so faint Lyra thought she almost imagined it. She let her gaze linger one more moment before setting the rose down and then stepping away. She headed directly toward Lyra, her face an accurate reflection of what Lyra herself felt inside. 

The reception following the service was incredibly boring, as the other one had been last night. In fact, Lyra was confused, wondering why she had to sit there through this today when she'd done so yesterday. Again, these rules didn't seem to make a lot of sense. Who made them, anyway? 

"You look as though you could use an adventure." Mrs. Coulter was back, eyes warm and spirits up as if she hadn't been staring despondently at Asriel's grave a few hours before. 

The two snuck away from the party, giggling as they left behind all the tired old men talking about tired old things in tired old ways. Pan was certain he'd caught the Master's raven daemon eying them as they left, though that didn't faze them. Lyra was to decide where they would go and what they would do, as the foremost resident expert of fun things to do at Jordan College. 

"Of _course_ you'd want to go on the roof," Mrs. Coulter let out, watching as Lyra opened the window in her room (someone must have unlocked it for her, she realized) and then scampered onto the shingles. 

"Aren't you coming?" she asked the woman, Pan flapping his wings as a goldfinch as he flew around the open air. 

Mrs. Coulter let out a heavy sigh before picking up the hem of her dress and climbing out of the window by stepping over Lyra's small desk. She moved carefully and slowly, as though afraid of something. But her movements were incredibly nimble and smooth, as if she were well-practiced. She had excellent balance, Lyra noticed. 

"What's wrong?" Lyra asked, frowning as she saw Mrs. Coulter shudder. 

"I've just… Never been sure about them," Mrs. Coulter responded. "Heights." She paused as she gazed down at the landscape of Oxford. From their angle, they could see the river and the main entrance of the college, as well as a few other buildings and shops in the distance. Lyra felt guilty all of a sudden, realizing she'd never stopped to think about how Mrs. Coulter, an actual _adult,_ would think about this plan. 

"Well, we don't have to be up here," Lyra began, thinking of something else they could do that didn't include dangling high above the ground. 

"It's alright, dear." Whatever Mrs. Coulter had been about to say was lost as her face was bright and happy now. "Time spent with you is worth facing my every fear."

No one had ever said something like that to Lyra before. She felt her mouth open a little bit, not sure exactly how to respond. It was said so quickly and so casually, yet it resonated with her. It kept ringing over her head like an echo. Pan nudged her along after a few moments and Lyra led the way to her favorite spying point by the formal gardens. 

It was busy in the courtyard today, which was to be expected given all the activities. Uncle Asriel always _had_ gathered a crowd, after all. Lyra gestured to a spot by a chimney and then sat down, beckoning Mrs. Coulter to come over. The woman obliged, picking her way through the shingles carefully before settling down. The golden monkey scrambled up the chimney with Pan to scope out the scene. 

"It seems so lovely up here," Mrs. Coulter said politely. 

"You don't like it," Lyra laughed, amused at how Mrs. Coulter pretended to lean comfortably against the chimney when it looked as if she were clinging to it for dear life. 

Mrs. Coulter laughed, too, relaxing a bit. "Well, it's still not my favorite thing, but this is alright. I can handle it." 

They engaged in idle chit chat then, watching the men walk around and talk to each other. 

"Sometimes I wonder what it's like to be a Scholar," Lyra said after a while, watching one of the men get into a heated argument with another one. She saw both their arms moving around furiously. "To be able to speak your mind and do whatever you want." Mrs. Coulter laughed sharply at that, and Lyra looked to see her eying the men with a certain hardness in her gaze. 

"To be a man is to be in power," Mrs. Coulter sighed, the edge now replaced with frustration. "And power is what counts." She looked over at Lyra then, reaching out her hand to tuck away a loose strand of hair that had escaped a pin. "What do you think of power, Lyra?" 

Lyra paused to think about it for a moment, remembering something her uncle had told her a long time ago. "Power corrupts," she thought aloud, gauging Mrs. Coulter's reaction. The woman's smile faltered a little. "I remember hearing my uncle say that before."

Mrs. Coulter let out a light puff of air as she moved to stroke Lyra's head. "That's definitely a thing he would say."

"How well did you know my uncle?" She'd been meaning to ask it all day, because every time Lyra talked about her uncle or they were around something concerning him, Mrs. Coulter was sad. Lyra knew she had to have known him more than as an acquaintance. Perhaps it was rude to ask, but Lyra didn't care. She had to know. 

"I knew him well, actually," Mrs. Coulter whispered. Her hand slowed in its way through Lyra's hair as her eyes fixed on a spot off in the distance. "As well as anyone could know him, I suppose. He wasn't very open and he was never in one place for very long."

Lyra simply stared, feeling upset again about someone knowing her uncle better than she did when they were apparently the only family they both had left. 

"He never mentioned you," Lyra noted, although she didn't intend for it to be said in a mean way. It was more of an observation. 

"I don't expect he would have. We knew each other a long time ago when we were both very young."

"Did you know my parents, too?" 

Mrs. Coulter's hand stopped then, freezing at the top of Lyra's head. She turned her face around to look into Lyra's eyes again. The _look_ was stronger than ever. There was no denying it. Lyra was aware through Pan that the monkey had stiffened, too, and felt unreadable and uncomfortable. Looking back at Mrs. Coulter, it looked as if she wanted to say something, as if she were looking for permission. 

"No," she finally sighed—looking so very sad. "I didn't, Lyra, but I...I'd heard about you, and how you ended up here. And I'm sorry I didn't stay in touch with Asriel, and didn't have a chance to meet you sooner."

The sorrow was real, but something felt off about the exchange. Lyra tried to ignore it, accepting the hug Mrs. Coulter gave her, but Pan wasn't about to let it go. He'd flown down now and landed on a tile nearby, his eyes carefully watching them. 

"There's something else I'd like to talk to you about, Lyra," Mrs. Coulter said after a very long pause, releasing Lyra from the embrace yet still resting her arm around Lyra's shoulders. 

"What is it?" Lyra felt a great wave of anticipation fill her then. She didn't know why, but she was expecting something. She could feel it in the air—something left unsaid, something willing itself into existence. Pan was anxious, too, still watching them. 

"Why don't you come and live with me in London?"

Pan and Lyra both balked for a moment, not expecting that. Lyra had to confirm with Pan that she'd actually heard her right. 

"And leave Jordan?" Lyra asked, staring at the woman in almost disbelief. 

"Yes. Even for just a little while." Mrs. Coulter smiled now, her presence lightening considerably. "I know we haven't talked about it that much, but I'm a type of explorer myself, and I could use some help." She paused again, eyes flickering over Lyra's face. "You could be my assistant."

"You're going on an expedition to the North?" 

"Some time in the near future, yes." Mrs. Coulter's eyes were glimmering. "And all this business with Asriel has really made…has really helped me think things through differently."

Lyra nodded, not even remotely sure what that meant. 

"When would we have to leave?" 

"Very soon, dear." 

"How soon?" 

Mrs. Coulter hesitated, biting her lip. "Tomorrow, perhaps. Or in a few days, after things have settled down."

Tomorrow. Or in the coming days. Lyra's head spun for a moment, just thinking about how miserable she'd been when she woke up that morning and how oddly elated she felt right now. She had the opportunity to go to the North, to go on an adventure! She'd wanted this for as long as she could remember, and here she had it, dangling in front of her. 

_But not with Uncle Asriel,_ a part of her ached, mixing with all of the thoughts and sorrows she had felt throughout the day. 

_And what about our friends?_ Pan added to her thoughts, _and our life here at Jordan?_

"Promise me you'll think about it?" Mrs. Coulter pressed, tilting her head to smile at Lyra again. It was warm and inviting. Lyra couldn't help the smile that spread across her own face in response. Looking at Mrs. Coulter was like looking up at the clouds and the sky on the most beautiful of summer days. 

"I will," said Lyra, and she would. The idea was so sudden yet, in a weird way, made sense. The more she thought about it, she was also finding it harder for Jordan to feel the same to her. She didn't know if it would ever feel the same, after all this. 

"I have to go find my friend Roger, though, and talk to him about it," Lyra added as Mrs. Coulter nodded to her. A thought just occurred to her. "Would you like to meet him? He should be done working until dinner!" 

Mrs. Coulter nodded again, and Lyra smiled. She felt warmth spread through her as she jumped up, holding out her hand for Mrs. Coulter to make her feel safer about climbing back to her bedroom window. 

On their way over a ledge, however, Lyra slipped, but Mrs. Coulter caught her. Her arms had lunged forward before Lyra or Pan could even blink. The woman pulled her back up and put her in place as if Lyra had never slipped at all. She was completely steady on her feet, crouched low in a way that resembled her monkey daemon. 

"Not so fast, Missy," Mrs. Coulter laughed, smoothing Lyra's dress back down. Lyra laughed, too, and watched Mrs. Coulter admiringly as she moved over to the window and jumped neatly down back into the room. She moved without even having to think, it looked like. If Lyra didn't know any better, she'd have thought she inherited her balance from Mrs. Coulter herself, and smiled at the thought and at the possibility of living with her and getting to scale the rooftops of some fancy London buildings. 

Maybe leaving Jordan wouldn't be so bad after all, she reckoned, leaping forward to join the beautiful woman back inside the College. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mrs. Coulter catching Lyra on the roof and hopping back into the room is in my mind a happier (and sober) take of her balancing on the edge of the terrace in episode 3 of the HDM series.


	3. Maneuvering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mrs. Coulter works very hard to get what she wants.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mrs. Coulter's POV this time! I've written from her view a lot in previous stories, but it wasn't quite as...heavy, as it is here. I enjoyed writing this, but I also really enjoyed writing from Lyra's perspective. I plan to write more from Lyra's in future chapters, in addition to Mrs. Coulter's. I just love them both so much and like being able to explore the different nuances they each bring.
> 
> Thanks for reading, and I hope you like it! This update was a bit quicker since I had some extra time this week (Labor Day in the US). I hope to have another update out soon!

**CHAPTER 3**

**Maneuvering**

The early spring air was chilly as Mrs. Coulter headed back to Jordan College from her hotel room, passing by busy shops and markets that were just getting ready for the day. A small booth caught her attention as she made her way toward the bridge, the golden monkey following along at her ankles. The booth displayed a fresh batch of newspapers. The headline on the front page practically screamed out loud to her: _Count Belacqua Dead, Leaves Behind Controversial Research and Young Child._

Mrs. Coulter snatched it from the stand, looking at it closer. Her breathing grew ragged. The photogram showed Lyra tentatively reaching down to place her rose on the casket. After checking all the corners, Mrs. Coulter didn't see any traces of herself (she'd found the photographer after the service and had made a handsome deal for his photograms) and noted the caption referred to her as his niece.

_Good,_ Mrs. Coulter thought, bitterly, ignoring the booth's clerk as she threw the paper back down and kept going. 

She'd decided to stay somewhere else the night after the funeral, as the festivities surrounding Asriel's death were becoming increasingly unbearable for her to withstand. Those drunk fools hardly knew what they were doing, what with the reception after the _first_ reception after the banquet. The Magisterium's presence also quieted what Mrs. Coulter understood would normally be quite passionate, scholastic debates in the wake of the loss of a particularly bright mind. In many ways, it was utter chaos at Jordan, with no one quite understanding what happened or what to do. 

She also had to get away from there, after having lied to Lyra in the way that she did. 

Mrs. Coulter hadn't wanted to create the "assistant" pretense. Truly, she had packed her bags and hopped on an airship to Jordan two days ago with every intention of telling Lyra who she was and why she was there. She could have spun it any which way she wanted, as she had the opportunity to explain to Lyra what was happening and to present her own side of the story with no one there to tell her otherwise. She had a chance to do things right in the face of a great tragedy. She had an occasion to do and be better. 

But something about seeing the girl in that parlor on the first night shattered her plan. Lyra was wounded in the wake of Asriel's death. She was collateral damage, perhaps, in a plan as complex as the configurations of the universe. It wasn't the proper _time_ to tell her as she cried and grieved. It would have been too soon. And even on the roof after the funeral, it would have been too much, although the moment was there as if perfectly staged. All Mrs. Coulter had to do was simply say it: _I am your mother._

She couldn't do it, of course. So here she was, heading back to Jordan as a kind-hearted stranger wanting only the best for Lyra, a poor orphan child with no one left now. It made her want to vomit. Even the golden monkey snarled. 

Lyra had decided to stay at Jordan last night, even when Mrs. Coulter offered her the chance to get away from everything and stay with her at the hotel.

"I don't think I can," the girl had muttered, sadly, biting her lip and tilting her head. "I've got lessons and such in the morning that I should probably get goin' to."

“Oh, no, Lyra, not any time soon,” Mrs. Coulter had interrupted. She’d tried to be gentle, yet firm, for Lyra didn't seem to fully grasp the gravity of the situation. Part of her did admire Lyra's determination, though, as wildly unrealistic as it was. "You…this is a hard time. I don't think anyone will expect you to be taking lessons right now."

She really was having a hard time. When Mrs. Coulter had arrived at Jordan as soon as she possibly could, she didn't know what to expect. Lyra was a child Mrs. Coulter had long neglected in her heart, until that moment. Until duty had called. And seeing the child— _her_ child—so sad and so lost when all her reports had painted her to be a wild and impossible charge was simply unreal. Mrs. Coulter was surprised at the tenderness she had offered during those moments, and even more surprised at how she found herself thinking of hardly anything else but how to comfort Lyra. 

She really hoped Lyra wouldn’t be at Jordan for that much longer, and that she would return to London with her. It was ridiculous for her to remain there—ridiculous for her to have even been there in the first place. A college was no place to raise a child, especially Jordan with its tinkering with Dust. The Magisterium was moving in faster than anyone even realized, including Asriel.

Mrs. Coulter had felt something sharp strike her with the thought. She felt the familiar surge of feeling that coursed through her since she had found out, along with her underlying sense of suspicion. But she brushed it away, turning her attention back to Lyra. She had to focus entirely on Lyra now, as hard as it was. She had a responsibility to. 

The girl insisted she needed to stay, even if she decided to leave soon. She explained her education at Jordan was piecemeal enough as it was and she didn't want to get in trouble or get further behind. She was stubborn, Mrs. Coulter realized, and very set in her ways and in what she wanted. Not unlike herself, really. There was simply no convincing her that perhaps she didn't have to worry about life as normal right now, and that perhaps her time at Jordan College with her lack of schedule and absence of discipline was coming to an end even sooner than she’d anticipated.

So Mrs. Coulter had left Lyra at the entrance hall and then returned to the hotel, taking in the still-bare trees as the afternoon began to wane into evening. It was always damp and cold this time of year, but it somehow felt even more so. She returned to her room to sit on the stiff, uncomfortable bed while her daemon stared at her from his place on a chair on the opposite wall. They'd stayed like that almost all night, until Mrs. Coulter fell to her side and succumbed to sleep. It would have been better if Lyra had been with her, she thought when she woke up. She might have felt better, or at least less _empty._

"We have to talk about it," the golden monkey said to her now, eying her carefully as they picked their way around the River Isis. 

"Talk about _what_?" Her tone was as biting and cold as the air around them. His gaze at her only hardened. 

"You _know_ what. We haven't had a chance to talk about it."

Mrs. Coulter grimaced, brushing his thoughts away as they continued to walk forward. She wasn't going to have this conversation right now. The entire situation was overwhelming and threatened to consume her. It very well would if she weren't careful, if she didn’t keep her guard up. But at the moment, Mrs. Coulter had more pressing matters to attend to than her own feelings about Asriel and whatever may or may not have happened to him. 

_You're lying to yourself,_ the monkey thought back to her, getting in the last word. _You care and you hurt but you don't want to admit it._

A few more minutes of icy silence brought them back to Jordan. Mrs. Coulter stepped into the entrance hall and began easing her face back into the most soothing of smiles. As one of the doormen had told her, Lyra was sitting in the library trying to catch up on some of the many books she hadn't read during the school year. Mrs. Coulter entered the dimly-lit room with the rows of suffocating bookshelves and spotted Lyra sitting alone at a table near the center, wearing a faded red dress with a dirty beige blouse. No Scholars were in the library this morning. _Probably because they’re hungover,_ the monkey was keen to speculate.

"What do we have here?" she called softly, noting the way Lyra's head jerked up and how her eyes brightened at the sight of her. It brought a pleasant flutter to her stomach.

"Just studying," the girl answered. Four thick volumes about experimental theology towered over her. Glancing at some of the titles, Mrs. Coulter let out a small laugh. Those were titles she'd read cover-to-cover herself for her own research. They focused primarily on the complexities of energy force, and included quite a few complicated equations that Mrs. Coulter highly doubted Lyra could even begin to comprehend. 

"Such a daunting task," she mused, taking a seat next to Lyra. "I read those for my undergraduate thesis at St. Sophia's."

Pan's cat ears pricked up from his place on the desk as Lyra looked up at her. "You did?" 

"Oh, yes," Mrs. Coulter said, reaching over and taking the top one. _Experimental Theory Over the Ages._ "This one is a helpful overview, walking you through what the main bodies of research are and where the biggest tensions and controversies lie. It's comprehensive, although if you want the _drama_ between Scholars over the years you'll want to read the response section of the _Journal of Experimental Theology_. Some of the essays in there can be quite opinionated."

Lyra simply stared at her. Mrs. Coulter could _feel_ the awe radiating from her eyes.

“You...know about all this stuff?”

“Of course,” Mrs. Coulter said sweetly, opening the book to leaf quickly through it. She tried not to be too insulted at the tone of surprise, as Lyra had probably never met an accomplished female Scholar. “I’ve published about a few things that you might find fascinating. Although, I will say that my work has been more qualitative as of late, looking at human behaviors and experiences with different kinds of matter.”

“You’re incredible,” Lyra blurted out, eyes still wide. Mrs. Coulter smiled. Every time Lyra looked at her like that she found it just a little hard to breathe. And intoxicating. The golden monkey fidgeted by her feet at the thought. 

“I can teach you about it, too, you know,” Mrs. Coulter offered, softly. "I have all of these books and more back at my apartment."

Lyra frowned then. Pan looked over at her, eyes searching, as she let out a great sigh and closed the open book in front of her, eying Mrs. Coulter carefully. Maybe Mrs. Coulter was pushing too much, as the golden monkey had been chiding her ever since she'd brought up the idea. But part of Mrs. Coulter didn't really _see_ any other options at this point. The Magisterium was gaining influence, her work with the Oblation Board would be spreading to Oxford soon enough, and Asriel—

Again, the mere thought of him very nearly unraveled her. For so long he'd been a distant enigma in her life, a shadow of the past. He was something she'd buried deep within her but that now crept forward to the surface. She shoved the thought of him aside, locking it away again. Her eyes turned to Lyra's with all the softness she could muster. 

"I'm afraid to leave Jordan," Lyra finally said after a minute of silence, eyes not looking at her. 

"What do you mean?" 

"I…this is the only place I've ever lived. And this is the place my uncle took me to. It's where he wanted me to be. And I don't want to leave and forget about him."

That was it. The girl was finally being honest with her feelings. While the golden monkey bristled at the admission, silently judging the way Mrs. Coulter refused to deal with such thoughts herself, Mrs. Coulter simply nodded. "I know, darling. It's a lot to take in. And perhaps why, for now at least, it might be good for you to come with me. To take your mind off it. We could keep each other company. I’m all by myself, you see. And being by yourself can be quite lonely.”

And indeed she was lonely, Mrs. Coulter realized after she’d said it. She led a busy, eventful life in London, and her work with the Oblation Board was starting to intensify, but it was lonely work. With every research study conducted with a child and every plan for the Station, Mrs. Coulter would suddenly remember that _she_ had a child. And getting the call from her contact at Jordan, and learning about Asriel… It was time. The golden monkey was upset, she could tell, but she knew it was settled. It was time for Lyra to come live with her, once and for all. 

"Why are you lonely?" Lyra asked, dark eyes wide. "Haven't you got a family?" 

Mrs. Coulter did. A brother and a mother. Two people she hadn't talked to in a year now, possibly longer. A dead husband. A dead lover. And, sitting right before her, an unsuspecting daughter. 

"Not really," she said softly, aware of the monkey growing more and more uncomfortable. "Not nearby, at any rate."

"What about… Mr. Coulter?" 

It was a rude question, but Lyra didn't understand these things, really, so Mrs. Coulter couldn't hold it against her. No one was supposed to ask about a widow's late husband. It was improper. But to an eleven year-old, it was inevitable. "He died a very long time ago in a tragic accident." 

"D'you have any kids?" 

Again, that _pain_ coursed through Mrs. Coulter's heart in a way she hadn't expected. It made her want to audibly gasp aloud in shock and pure feeling, and it took an incredible amount of energy to refrain from doing so as she thought of what she could possibly say. 

Mrs. Coulter couldn't lie to Lyra about this. She could lie about how she knew Asriel, and about what she knew about Lyra. She could even lie about Lyra's mother if she ever asked directly, playing it off as something she never knew. But when it came to Lyra's existence, to Mrs. Coulter acknowledging her child's existence, she didn't know what to do. It'd been her choice to enter into this weird pretense, and it would be her choice now to decide how to handle this question. 

"I think you're looking to talk about anything but the subject at hand," Mrs. Coulter said instead, smiling. She couldn't go through with it. The girl frowned at that, clearly realizing she'd been caught in her distraction work. Her daemon was whispering in her ear now, back in his ermine form. Her eyes were locked on the wooden desk as he whispered to her. Mrs. Coulter wondered what they were talking about, and how she was feeling, and what they were going to say. 

After a few moments, Lyra finally lifted her head. "I need to know what happened to him," she whispered, locking eyes with her. Mrs. Coulter could melt into them, she thought. Melt right there into pure mush. "I can go with you and leave, but I have to know. Can you help me find out what happened to him?" 

"Yes." Mrs. Coulter's voice was small, too, but steady. "I promise, Lyra. We'll figure out what happened."

She made her way to the Master's study with a swift confidence she didn't know she still possessed under these circumstances. It was seeing Lyra's eyes that did Mrs. Coulter in. She'd never seen a child so crestfallen and so desperate over something. She admittedly didn't know Lyra well, but from what she'd heard and gleaned, she wasn't one to behave like this. She was strong, but this was too much. And, as the monkey again invaded her thoughts, Mrs. Coulter realized how much she could actually empathize with Lyra, and how difficult this situation was and how suspicious she was of Asriel's "accident". It was hard to take on even for Mrs. Coulter, who liked to render herself stronger than most people. 

When she reached the far end of the College, she swung open the wooden door and then locked it behind her in one swift motion. She wasn't invited, and he wasn't expecting her, but he didn't look surprised as his gaze trailed over to her above the rim of his golden glasses. His daemon gave a soft caw, her eyes fixed on the golden monkey. 

"I was wondering when you'd come and find me," the Master said softly. 

"Were you now," Mrs. Coulter mused, inching closer. She let her finger trail against some of the various objects clustered on the side tables. 

"I suppose you've come to finally collect her," he answered, sitting up straighter and reaching out for a pen. "I can't stop you now, of course, and I've noticed she _does_ seem to have grown quite fond of you after you inserted yourself into the scene. There's a matter of the legal custody document, which I have here. Although, I imagine you might be hesitant to sign anything given your ties to—" 

"What did you do to him?"

He looked up, eyes wide. Perhaps he hadn't been expecting that, or perhaps he hadn't expected she'd ask so soon. Mrs. Coulter could understand that she normally played with such matters in the delicate, aristocratic way, leading up to something by talking about nothing at all in a very pointed, calculating way. Doing so exuded the language of power, after all, as anyone with any influence would understand. But there also came times, like now, where the situation warranted not delicacy but brutality. She reached the man's desk and leaned forward, her hands clasping the edge of the waxed wood. 

"Surely you're not implying what I think you are," the Master merely blinked back to her. 

"You and I both know you had something to do with it." With the golden monkey edging her on, she leaned closer. "And you're going to tell me, so I can look my daughter in the eye and have some semblance of what, exactly, I'm lying to her about."

She was quite intimidating, she realized. Most people would quake at her insistence, at her heedy glare and the way her body towered forward and commanded all attention. But the Master was not most people, it seemed, as his mouth widened into a smile. "I've never taken you to be a mother hen."

"I'm quite used to being underestimated."

"Except here you lack experience and moral standing," he shot back. 

"Stop evading the question and tell me what happened." The golden monkey banged his little paws on the desk, the force of the impact louder than either of them expected. The Master's smile fell just then as she went on. "You know I'll find out. I'll send the Magisterium here within the hour. They'll destroy everything."

"Then do it." There was a clear challenge in his voice. Enough to make Mrs. Coulter raise an eyebrow. "I don't have time for your games, Marisa. As hard it is to believe, this isn't actually about you."

The golden monkey screeched as Mrs. Coulter stared at him, feeling her breathing start to quicken. She could field a personal insult. She was well used to it, and experienced it day in and day out living in this patriarchal society. But this was more than that. His actions and the consequences impacted more than just her. And he had the _audacity_ to act like they didn't. 

"You're pathetic," she merely said to him, aware of the golden monkey's hackles rising and her own fury threatening to spill from her. "You've done no favors to Lyra. She's absolutely devastated. Do you know how heartbroken she is? I put her to bed the other night and she cried herself to sleep. Didn't you even stop to _think_ about her?"

The Master seemed old suddenly, at least twenty years older than his already advanced age. His daemon squawked and he let out a long sigh. "That, Marisa, is the difference between you and I. Unlike you, I _always_ think about Lyra and what's best from her. Not just when it's convenient for me."

If she weren't already emotionally drained from the past two days, she wouldn't have been able to stop herself. She would have struck him, and screamed at him, and had the golden monkey rip every single feather from that decaying raven's body. And she would have enjoyed it, and reveled in the consequences of him daring to insult her. 

"You'll regret this, John," she simply said instead, her voice reflecting only a fraction of the pure hatred she felt for him in this moment. 

She stormed out of the room then, her handbag swinging wildly at her side as her daemon jogged to keep up with her. She wasn't going to let him see it, the single tear that crept from her eyelid to the top of her cheek. He didn't deserve to see that tear, and to see how much his last words rattled her, and to see her inner turmoil practically unfolding right in front of everyone. She wasn't going to let Lyra see it, either, as she wiped her face and headed not back to the library but to her hotel room to start making arrangements. She was going to get her child the _hell_ away from this place and this man and this treachery. She was going to keep her safe from whatever was happening. 

A few hours later they were off on a zeppelin, Lyra's hand fitted perfectly inside hers as they made their way over to their seats. Mrs. Coulter hadn't said anything to her yet, except that she had her best people looking into what happened to her uncle. She told Lyra to trust her, that she wouldn't just help and wouldn't just try but would succeed. And it was enough for the girl, who pranced around on the seat across from her now.

"How high does this go?" Lyra asked, eyes wide as she examined the great propeller on the side of the ship.

"Oh, about ten thousand feet or so," Mrs. Coulter answered, eyes crinkling with a smile as Lyra mouthed her awe and craned her neck further to see the body of the air ship. She hadn't gotten out much, Mrs. Coulter realized more and more, which saddened her in a way she hadn't quite expected. It was her own fault, she supposed, to which the golden monkey shuddered and Mrs. Coulter tried to put out of her mind as she encouraged Lyra to put away her shabby suitcase and tell her a story about her favorite adventures at Jordan. 

They would be okay. Not right away, of course. Grief wasn't linear and Lyra was both young and old enough for this to unevenly impact her. But Mrs. Coulter would be there for her throughout it, in the way she should have been all these years. She just hoped it wasn't too late, and that this business with Asriel wouldn't somehow creep its way back into Lyra's life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mrs. Coulter feels a deep, grave sense of responsibility for her child here in a way she comes to adopt later in the actual series. I think Asriel's death (and the shadiness surrounding it!) would definitely do that. Things are basically getting real for Mrs. Coulter.


	4. Aligning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mrs. Coulter transitions into her life caring for a child.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More of Mrs. Coulter's POV here! One thing I'd really like to flesh out in this story is her identity and capability as a researcher. I feel like that gets taken up more in the series than in the book, and I am all for her getting to be intellectual and strategic and powerful. 
> 
> Anyway, hope you like it! I have the next chapter drafted up and now have to really brainstorm and think through the rest of the series, and move beyond my sketches of what I'd like to happen. :)

**CHAPTER 4**

**Aligning**

What no one says about living with a child is how they completely dominate every aspect of your life. 

Mrs. Coulter thought about this on the car ride over to her apartment after she and Lyra got off the zeppelin, already mentally calculating how _different_ walking back into the place would feel. It would no longer be her home—it would _also_ be Lyra's home. It would thus be _theirs,_ with a joint sense of ownership and comfort that they'd have to build together over time. And it was all Mrs. Coulter could think about, wondering what it'd be like and how Lyra would acclimate. 

She had expected this to an extent, of course, as taking in Lyra was going to drastically change how she lived. Her life wouldn’t be the same, as part of it would always revolve around making sure Lyra was safe and happy and healthy, and her work would in a lot of ways take place before waking Lyra and after putting her to bed. It was part of the responsibility of taking the child in. The truth, however, was that eleven years as a widow operating entirely on her own schedule was something Mrs. Coulter had grown accustomed to and was something that’d become easy. It was simple, to get up and go at whatever speed she liked. It was luxurious.

But now, her time would no longer be her own. And it would hardly ever be luxurious, as the golden monkey angrily reminded her. 

Lyra's incessant chatter quieted when they entered Mrs. Coulter’s flat, her thin winter coat baggy on her tiny frame as the elevator door opened to reveal the main hallway.

“I can’t believe this is our new home, Pan,” she said to her daemon as she stepped forward, eyes darting every which way around them.

“Look how shiny the _floor_ is!” he exclaimed in return as they skidded forward. Lyra’s knitted hat fell sideways and her shabby suitcase flapped along at her side. Pan changed into a tabby cat and slid across the floor, soliciting a laugh from Lyra. Mrs. Coulter smiled as she watched them, exploring their new home and starting their new life—with her, in London.

Lyra's life was changed for the better now. Mrs. Coulter warmed at the thought of it. 

"This here," she was telling Lyra as they swept through the apartment on their tour, "Is the room I've had prepared for you. Now, there are still some more things we need to pick up, but I hope you'll find it suitable."

The girl's smile was all the answer Mrs. Coulter needed as she ran into the room and jumped onto the bed, giggling with her daemon as she gazed around the room.

After Lyra had gotten settled into her new bedroom, they found themselves back in the living room, sitting side-by-side on the gray sofa closest to the hallway. It was comfortable, sitting beside the girl like that. It felt right in a still-strange way. They started talking about one of the fancy parties Mrs. Coulter had been to a few weeks before and what events were coming up next when she noticed Lyra’s coat still laying messily over one of the arms.

“I don’t think we’ll be needing _this_ old thing anymore, darling” Mrs. Coulter said sweetly, reaching over for the coat. “I’ll have a new one ordered that’ll be here for you bright and early in the morning.”

Before she could take the coat, however, Lyra beat her to it. She clutched at something in it, her eyes cagey as she looked back at Mrs. Coulter and said she wanted to keep it as it was a gift from her uncle. She insisted that she didn’t have to wear it but couldn’t bear to part with it. Pan whispered something in her ear, too, before she stopped fidgeting with it and then went on her way, taking her coat back into her bedroom before bouncing out again. 

_She's hiding something,_ the golden monkey thought to her, eyes sharp as he watched them scamper over to the other side of the room to look at the books Mrs. Coulter had arranged on her white bookcase. 

Mrs. Coulter didn't think so. Perhaps she was underestimating her daughter, but she'd seemed innocent enough the past few days they'd spent time together. One of the things that surprised Mrs. Coulter was how vulnerable Lyra was. She'd hardly known Mrs. Coulter yet revealed her inner-most thoughts and feelings to her back at Jordan, a sign of overwhelming grief, perhaps, but also of an open, trusting child who wouldn't hide something from the person now taking care of her. 

_The "person,"_ the golden monkey scoffed at her, getting in one more dig as he sullied away to the corner of the room. _Just a person to her, and not her_ **_mother._ **

If Lyra weren't in the room, Mrs. Coulter would have lunged for her daemon and sunk her nails deep into his neck. She would have strangled him, even, before letting him go lick his wounds like the filthy animal he was. But she ignored it, pausing a moment to take in a deep breath. Then she exhaled, and turned to Lyra and asked her which book she wanted to read first. 

Something else Mrs. Coulter wasn’t prepared for were the _nightmares._

They started the third night after Lyra had arrived. Mrs. Coulter had been asleep across the hall, albeit lightly, when the golden monkey sat bolt upright upon hearing a piercing scream that came from Lyra’s room. It was again a foreign sensation for Mrs. Coulter, to be jolted awake and then to scramble out of her bed in the middle of the night like that. It shouldn’t be, of course, as the monkey wrly reminded her, since one ostensibly does such things when their child is a baby, well before they are eleven years old. But Mrs. Coulter's heart was pounding and her senses alert in a way they'd never been before. 

Mrs. Coulter felt dazed as she opened Lyra’s door and turned on the light, gazing down to see her child writhing in her sleep and letting out whines and moans.

“Lyra,” Mrs. Coulter said, kneeling down at the side of her bed. “Lyra. Wake up, my love.”

Lyra jumped as Mrs. Coulter moved a hand to stroke her cheek. Her eyes were wide and round with fear. Pan was clinging to her arm now, his ermine fur fluffed out and dangerously close to touching Mrs. Coulter's hand. 

"It was just a dream," Mrs. Coulter cooed, hoping she was soothing and gentle enough. Part of her was worried, as she watched Lyra's chest heave and her eyes still dart around the room. Was this normal for children? 

"Where am I?" Lyra panted, still trying to catch her breath. 

"Home," Mrs. Coulter said without thinking. "In London," she added, aware of the golden monkey taunting her. "With me, Mrs. Coulter. Everything is alright, Lyra."

The girl was fine a few minutes later, describing the bad dream she'd had about Asriel dying in an airship accident. 

"It was awful," Lyra exclaimed as Mrs. Coulter nodded, stroking Lyra's hair and silently willing her to fall back asleep already. "Just like my parents. I swear that's what happened to him, too, only they don't want to say nothin'."

"Shh," Mrs. Coulter simply responded, feeling her chest grow tight at Lyra's casual mention of her parents' deaths, as well as at the reminder she hadn't yet gotten serious about finding out what had happened to Asriel. She hoped Lyra wasn't about to ask. 

"Seems like everyone important to me dies on an airship," Lyra said instead, her voice sad. She then looked over at Mrs. Coulter, suddenly shy. She was staring at her with such intensity Mrs. Coulter almost had to look away. "You… Won't be going on an airship any time soon, will you, Mrs. Coulter?" 

Again, Mrs. Coulter could melt. Right there. Into mush. 

"No, dear," she answered, doing her best to keep her voice from quivering. "Don't you worry. Now, try to fall back asleep, alright? We have a busy day tomorrow."

Mrs. Coulter ate every single meal with the girl during the first couple weeks to establish a "family" routine that would ease Lyra into her new life. She'd read in an academic journal that such things were good for children, and that constructive structure led to more successful and obedient teenage years. The chef prepared both healthy and nutritious meals that pleased both the pallet and the body. Lyra seemed to like it well enough, as she didn't complain and always ate every bite, sometimes asking for more. Mrs. Coulter vaguely wondered if they'd starved her at that College, and felt a sudden urge to write to the Master with thinly-veiled threats to find out. 

Mrs. Coulter also wanted to treat Lyra every now and again, as anyone would. 

"I _love_ this!" Lyra had yelled out one evening, eyes wide and mouth full of half-chewed cinnamon roll. 

"Lyra, chew first and speak after," Mrs. Coulter gently chided, although she smiled as the girl continued to stare wide-eyed at the sweet treat and proceed to tear into it. 

What kind of childhood did she have, if she never had a cinnamon roll as a treat? What other pastries hadn't she had, and what _did_ she eat for all those years? Lyra was thin and scrawny-looking for a child her age, which could very well just be genetic but, increasingly, something Mrs. Coulter worried was nurtured by an upbringing of neglect at the College. 

**_You_ ** _want to talk about neglect?_

She hadn't been expecting that to pierce her as fiercely as it did. Her face fell into a snarl and her hand twitched as if to strike the monkey before she caught herself and looked down at Lyra, who was staring over at her. 

"Mrs. Coulter?" she asked, eyes round and voice almost squeaky. 

"I stubbed my toe," Mrs. Coulter answered swiftly, allowing her snarl to settle into something more resembling a wince. "Dreadful feeling, isn't it?" 

As for Asriel, Mrs. Coulter pushed him out of her mind almost completely. Compartmentalization had always been one of her strengths. Father MacPhail called it twisted once when they'd gotten into a heated debate over the Oblation Board, asking what kind of pious human being could detach from their feelings and set them aside in the way she did with the children. It was the opposite behavior that most irritated Mrs. Coulter, for people who brought their emotions into everything ruined every single thing they touched. One had to know when to act and how to execute it. It was an art. 

So while she had some contacts looking into Asriel's death and would be ready to read their reports, for the most part she didn't think of him. She hadn't thought about him in years, so she tried to pretend that nothing at all had changed. Plus she had Lyra now, which changed everything. And she found that Lyra had started asking less and less about her uncle's mysterious death the more time and attention she showered over her. 

As much as Mrs. Coulter enjoyed their getting-to-know-each-other time walking through parks, shopping at department stores, catching the latest opera, and simply talking over tea in the living room or out on the terrace, it couldn't last forever. Nothing gold can stay, as the American poet put it. She had work to do, which was beginning to pile up as their experiments at the Station were increasing in intensity and needed her direction in order to move productively forward. Written correspondence could only do so much. 

"I'll only be gone for a short while, dear," Mrs. Coulter said to Lyra as she grabbed her handbag and headed toward the lift. It was the first time they'd be separated in their month together. Mrs. Coulter was only going to an abandoned warehouse nearby to meet with her lead scientists and would be back in an hour or two. "You'll be perfectly fine."

"But why can't I come with you?" Lyra's brow furrowed as she stomped her foot on the floor, glaring up at Mrs. Coulter. Pan changed into an owl and hooted at her, too. 

"Lyra, pouting does not suit you," Mrs. Coulter lectured, aware of the golden monkey bearing his teeth at Pan. "I'll only be gone a short while, and you're a big girl. Go read a book."

"I don't want to."

"Lyra."

"But I don't!" 

It took a lot of willpower for Mrs. Coulter to contain herself. This type of behavior was not acceptable. She wouldn't tolerate it from a stranger's child let alone her own. Little girls were meant to be sweet, polite, and obedient, not foul and argumentative. But Lyra was still adjusting, and was still fragile. Mrs. Coulter had to consciously stop and remember this. She didn't want to spoil that progress, and so cleared her head and offered Lyra a kiss on the cheek. The girl immediately softened. 

"I know, darling, but do this for me?" 

The girl couldn't refuse her, it seemed. She took a deep breath and then nodded her head, moving to look down at the floor and shuffle her feet. 

"I'll bring you back a special treat," Mrs. Coulter called out from the elevator, waving to the now brightened child as the doors began to close. She then dropped her arms to her sides to smack her daemon for having growled at Pan as she locked the lift and then pressed the button for the lobby. 

There were important matters to attend to now. Mrs. Coulter hadn't really been working the last month, given their predicament and her newfound dedication to Lyra's care. She'd kept abreast of the Station's activities by way of reports and received phone calls every now and then, but she hadn't been able to do the leg work of recruitment, which was essential she do personally as they were still just getting started and needed to keep a low profile. She'd captured all the first round of children herself just before getting Lyra, and needed to pick up the slack now. She also wasn't able to examine the children herself, and measure what was happening with them. 

It felt impossible to do, with Lyra there with her. The child hardly left Mrs. Coulter's side, as she always wanted to hear a story or ask a question or simply just be near her. Mrs. Coulter had tried to do some initial scouting when they went out and about, noting any poor children wandering about, but even that was difficult. And as much as Mrs. Coulter liked to pretend otherwise, Lyra occupied most of her attention, too. She wasn't actually a burden at all. 

She was at the warehouse now, which they'd been prepping for a new batch of children to take to the North. Every inch of the building had been disinfected and wiped clean, as well as reorganized and painted to prevent any child from even remotely recognizing it. She saw new faces here this time, which meant Father MacPhail must have shuffled around her staff while she was out of the loop. 

"Right," she said to the small group of researchers, clapping her hands together. She had to figure out who they were and what they were capable of as quickly as she possibly could. "Let's go ahead and get started. First, your names, gentlemen, and education?" 

"M-Mrs. Coulter?" one of the young scientists piped up after the meeting, lingering awkwardly and eying her from the side as she was collecting her papers. Mrs. Coulter had to stop herself from laughing, because it felt like a school child coming up to the teacher's desk after class. 

"Yes, Dr. Smythe?" 

Stanley Smythe was a young, lanky man who'd recently finished his doctorate and was supposedly an up and coming great mind in Brytain. The Magisterium had snatched him before he even graduated and had offered his services to the Oblation Board. He was one of the ones Mrs. Coulter knew about ahead of time, although she didn't precisely know first-hand. 

"At the University of Oxford we often had to…secure consent from parents for this kind of research," he said quickly, his eyes looking everywhere except at her. "On children, that is. It was required by The Central University Research Ethics Committee."

"Yes," Mrs. Coulter said lightly, "I'm aware of the committee."

"And you—so you see how it's not…perhaps, maybe, _orthodox_ to conduct research in this way?" 

He knew as soon as he said it that he shouldn't have. The golden monkey growled low in his throat, advancing toward the man's tawny meerkat daemon, who visibly cringed. 

Mrs. Coulter was aware of both the various university standards for research and the Magisterium's own ethics board, the Original Research Review Board (ORRB). _Unlike_ the various college boards, however, ORRB oversaw _all_ areas of research, human subjects or not. The Scholars at Jordan bristled at the fact, knowing very well how their own theoretical work bordered the heretical and would never be approved by the Magisterium's standards. It was that which bounded them so tightly to their scholastic sanctuary, as it was the only (thin) shield between them and the consequences of their thoughts. 

_Except for Asriel,_ Mrs. Coulter thought somewhere in the back of her mind, so faintly she barely registered it. _Scholastic sanctuary must not have been enough to save him._

Mrs. Coulter cleared her throat and simply smiled back at Dr. Smythe. "You're free to leave the operation at any time, doctor. No one is keeping you here."

"Oh, no, ma'am," he began, his meerkat daemon fidgeting more now, but she didn't let him finish. 

"Then I suggest you be quiet and do as you're told. I have my approval for this research directly from the Cardinal himself, and these matters are beyond your parameters. Are we clear?" 

He simply nodded violently, gulping as his daemon climbed up his back to cling to his neck. Mrs. Coulter didn't think he would last long, really, with a disposition like that. She knew her work was morally gray at best, with a particular understanding that sometimes the few must be sacrificed for the many. If Dr. Smythe couldn't accept that, then the Magisterium could have him back. He had to learn about research out here in the _real_ world, and how the cutting edge work that needed to be done couldn't always wait on careful ethics reviews. She was out here trying to change the world, and so needed people who asked less questions and didn't waiver. 

She had her own role in this work to do, too, of course, beyond securing as many children as she was able. The Magisterium refused to acknowledge it, but Mrs. Coulter was a researcher herself. Not an Oxford-trained academic, perhaps, but a learned and seasoned researcher who knew Dust and experimental theology as well as any man around London and beyond. She also had started to increasingly dabble in qualitative research with the children, which was the center of her work at the moment. 

Such work would have to wait until they had more children in front of them, however, and until she figured out a way to balance her dual role as captor of children and caregiver of her own. It was quite the foil of herself, Mrs. Coulter realized, and it bothered her more than she'd like, given her preference for compartmentalizing her feelings. 

She picked up some cotton candy for Lyra on her way back, stopping in a small little store owned by a pudgy older woman working with her granddaughter. The girl was about 7 or 8 years old and gravitated toward Mrs. Coulter, batting shy eyelashes at her before helping her pick out her favorite flavor suitable for any little girl. That'd be good enough for Lyra, too, Mrs. Coulter figured. She felt a weird dryness in her throat as the older woman bid her farewell and said she hoped her daughter liked the cotton candy. Mrs. Coulter hadn't mentioned Lyra as her daughter, but who else would she be to her, she realized? Who else would a young woman stop and buy candy for? 

When she arrived back at the flat, Lyra flew into her arms as soon as the lift opened. Mrs. Coulter teetered at the force of the impact, a small laugh letting loose as she wrapped her arms around Lyra. 

"Hello," she said, looking down at Lyra as the girl looked up at her. 

"I missed you," Lyra said, quietly. Mrs. Coulter could see through the golden monkey how Pan's ermine ears were bent back slightly, visibly revealing Lyra's embarrassment at having admitted it. The poor thing, not wanting to admit how she felt, yet doing so anyway. 

"I missed you, too," Mrs. Coulter breathed, and she meant it. She really did. She hadn't realized how much she'd missed Lyra's presence, how accustomed she'd grown to it. How did mothers ever send their children to school, Mrs. Coulter wondered? 

Again, Mrs. Coulter found herself thinking about how much time with Lyra she had lost, and how maybe this would hurt less if it were day four thousand-twenty and not day thirty with her. 

"I brought you something from a very special candy store," Mrs. Coulter offered after a while, Lyra still clinging tightly to her. The girl didn't move, and Mrs. Coulter twisted sideways slightly to get a better look at her.

Lyra was crying, her eyes misty as she continued to hold Mrs. Coulter's midsection so tightly it almost hurt. Pan was soft and limp in the monkey's arms, now a cuddly koala that clung just as tightly to the daemon as the child did the human. 

"Lyra?" Mrs. Coulter asked again, moving her hand to tip Lyra's face up to her. 

"I was worried you wouldn't come back." Lyra's voice was almost inaudible. Her eyes looked at something just to the left of Mrs. Coulter. 

"Oh," Mrs. Coulter let out, moving her hand to slowly stroke Lyra's hair. She was aware of a heavy tension slowly filling the air now. 

"Because my uncle never came back," Lyra continued, voice so soft and gentle it could have been the breeze. "He said he would, but he didn't. He didn't make it back."

Mrs. Coulter found herself at a loss. Of _course_ Lyra would feel this way. It made sense, when she thought about it, as Asriel's death was still fresh in her mind and Lyra had years of abandonment issues Mrs. Coulter didn't want to even think about given her own role in causing them. She held the girl tighter then, wishing she could hug away all the pain her daughter was facing. If only she could kiss Lyra's head and make it all better. If only she could fix all of her own harmful actions. 

"I'm here," Mrs. Coulter simply responded. She felt Lyra hug her back tighter. She returned the embrace. "I'm not going anywhere, Lyra. I will always be here for you."


	5. Accumulating

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lyra grows to really love Mrs. Coulter, even if she's stern with her sometimes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for my delay on posting this! Life has just grown so incredibly busy. 
> 
> Here is the next installment of our story! And just a brief note on the timeline: in this story, Asriel dies toward the end of winter/start of spring, putting us now at end of spring/beginning of summer. Just wanted to clarify how I saw this progressing, and how we're still largely in a timeline before Mrs. Coulter's operations took off and spread to Oxford.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy! I am continuing to map out future chapters and am excited to keep going with this.

**CHAPTER 5**

**Accumulating**

Lyra was starting to settle into her life with Mrs. Coulter as the spring air warmed and slowly began to approach summer. The past couple months were almost a blur, with everything happening so fast: Uncle Asriel dying, meeting Mrs. Coulter, moving in with her, getting to know her new home and her new city and her new life. It was a lot to take in, especially when Lyra still felt so sad.

She didn't know why she still felt so upset, really. Lyra wasn't one to dwell on things overall, and it wasn't like she saw her uncle all the time anyway or like his presence was directly missing from her. In fact, her day-to-day life hardly felt impacted at all, since he had barely been in her life and had visited once (or, if she was lucky, twice) a year. But he'd always be on the verge of coming back, or would send a letter announcing his plans to visit. In that way, the _possibility of him_ still existed. Now, no such thing was there for Lyra.

Mrs. Coulter had explained grief to Lyra, saying it wasn't "linear" and how that meant she would feel things when she felt them and even when she didn't expect them. That made sense, although Lyra didn't truly understand it until it suddenly overwhelmed her during seemingly random times, like looking at a map of the North or hearing somebody talk about their uncle. The first time it happened was when she and Mrs. Coulter were shopping for new clothes, shortly after she’d first arrived.

“This is a pretty dress,” Mrs. Coulter was saying, holding up a dark green ensemble for Lyra to see. They were standing right at the intersection of women’s and men’s clothes, and when Lyra looked up to nod approvingly (even though she _personally_ thought the color looked like puke and the dress was too stiff to really move around in), she noticed the mannequin from the corner of her eye.

For just a brief moment, she thought it was her uncle. She couldn’t explain _why._ Pan couldn’t explain it, either, as he’d moved as an ermine on her shoulder to a bright robin to lurch forward. Uncle Asriel had been the only contemporary male figure in her life, she supposed, and he wore his favorite suits of tweed—just like the one that the mannequin was wearing. 

“Lyra?” Mrs. Coulter called again, her head tilted to the side before she followed Lyra’s gaze to the mannequin. She gave a soft “oh” as tears filled Lyra’s eyes. Mrs. Coulter was kind as she handed the dress over to Mr. George (one of their helpers, Lyra had learned) and then came over to wrap Lyra in a tight hug.

“Cry as much as you need to, darling,” she sang to her, smoothing down her hair. “Don’t try to hold it in. It’s quite alright.”

They stood like that for a long moment, the beautiful woman consoling a damaged, hurting child. 

Lyra found these feelings didn't happen if she kept her mind occupied, though, and if she were too tired to really let her mind wander. She always did better with a task at hand and goal to aspire to. Sometimes she couldn’t help it, though, like with the mannequin, but other times she could. 

So Lyra tried to keep herself busy, following Mrs. Coulter around and being chauffeured from place to place to meet so-and-so and such-and-such. It was kind of fun, as Lyra could pretend to be whoever she wanted to be, and escape for a little while who she actually was. She'd make up little personalities for herself, and try to spin as much as she could when people asked her questions and talked to her. Pan wasn't as fond of this pattern, however, and grew restless after even just the first few weeks. 

"We're not _doing_ anything here," he complained to her one afternoon as they were getting ready in her bedroom. Mrs. Coulter was taking them to a movie, so Lyra had to change into a nice dress and pick out a matching pair of shoes before Mrs. Coulter came in to fix her hair.

"'Course we are Pan," she retorted, holding up a plaid teal dress with one arm and a solid blue one in the other, looking at herself in the mirror inside the fancy wardrobe. Blue was her _color_ , Mrs. Coulter had told her. "We're gettin' used to our surroundings. Mrs. Coulter called it _accumulating."_

"The word is actually acclimating," Pan spat, fluffing his blue bird feathers, "and I think it's boring compared to running around Oxford."

Pan knew all too well how much Lyra missed Oxford, and perhaps just felt it stronger than she did at the moment. As kind as Mrs. Coulter was and as comfortable as life was with her, it wasn't the same as Lyra's Jordan. She missed the exciting rush of a new day, where she'd look out her tiny window at the rising sun and think up all the adventures she, Pan, and Roger could get into. She missed running into the kitchens and swiping pieces of bacon from the stove, and then dodging the Scholars who were supposed to be teaching her and instead ending up playing with a group of gyptian children until late into the day. 

Most of all, she missed Roger, who she'd written to a few times yet hadn't heard from yet. It concerned her, although she knew Mrs. Coulter was probably right when she pointed out that Roger couldn't read or write very well, being a kitchen boy and all. It wasn't his fault. But Lyra still worried, as she did sometimes. Mrs. Coulter mentioned a couple times they could always go and visit Roger, which was comforting. Even if they never ended up planning a trip, it was nice to know that she could, and that Mrs. Coulter would gladly take her. 

But life with Mrs. Coulter wasn't bad, as Lyra reminded Pan every time he brought it up. It was just different in a way that perhaps was best. Lyra needed to learn new things and forget about Jordan and Uncle Asriel and everything else for a while, for thinking about it just made her sad all over again. She needed to be happy. She needed to learn _how_ to be happy again. 

It was raining particularly hard at Mrs. Coulter's apartment one night after they'd returned from going out to dinner with a lady and her annoying daughter. Lyra sat by her window, watching the rain pelt at the glass as she curved her body into the small dip. It was the beginning of the summer storms, perhaps, and the first storm she'd actually experienced at Mrs. Coulter's. The wind was moving violently and shaking the tree that stood a ways down from their floor, making it wave to and fro like one of the bendy straws Mrs. Coulter allowed Lyra to sometimes put in her chocolatyl. 

The wind even shook the structures of the walls slightly, Lyra noticed, which alarmed her. How could that be, when they were so far up? Maybe it was a magic wind, blowing all the way down from the very tip of the North where the witches flew and cast tricks and curses on all of their enemies. Maybe it was like that nursery rhyme Mrs. Coulter had told her from New Brytain, where a mighty wolf huffed and puffed until he blew the whole house down. 

It was when a loud crack of thunder roared and Lyra screamed that Mrs. Coulter appeared at the door, switching the lights on. 

"Pan's scared," Lyra lied, refusing to look at her daemon who had gaped up at her with narrowed eyes. _No fair,_ she sensed him think to her, although she noticed from the corner of her eye that his fur was fluffed up. 

"Is he now?" Mrs. Coulter asked, coming into the room to lean on the edge of the bed. She was wearing a pair of teal silk pajamas, as she normally did, and had her reading glasses on. She still somehow looked absolutely perfect. 

"Yeah. I told him he's just being a big baby, but he's…he's afraid the wind is gonna blow the window and suck us all out!" 

The squeak in her voice was probably enough to give her away, but if Mrs. Coulter noticed, she didn't say anything. She let out an "ah" as her gaze swiveled over to the daemon, whose eyes were still narrowed as he posed in the form of a small chimpanzee. Lyra knew he was still upset, but she was too embarrassed to admit otherwise. 

"Well, I suppose you could tell Pan that such an awful thing could never happen because I had the best window man in all of London install every window in the flat."

"You did?" It was Pan this time who answered, which surprised Lyra a bit. Daemons didn't often speak to other humans, except for their family. Even then, Pan had only spoken up to Uncle Asriel once or twice when he'd been directly instructed to. And that was the only family interaction they'd ever experienced. So for him to speak so readily to Mrs. Coulter here, when she hadn't directed her speech to him, felt special in a way Lyra couldn't fully articulate. 

"Yes," Mrs. Coulter sang back to him, eyes wrinkling up in a smile. "So there is no possible way for that window to break open. And if it did, I promise I'd come and rescue the both of you before it sucked you away."

Lyra felt comforted by her words and allowed Mrs. Coulter to usher her back into the big, fluffy bed. She patted the covers around Lyra's sides and then planted a warm kiss on her forehead. Lyra savored that moment, of their closeness and their sweetness. It felt so right and safe in a way she never knew she wanted to feel. 

Was this what having a mother felt like, Lyra wondered? Her eyes drooped down and her body started to drift off back to sleep before she could sense Pan's decision that, yes, this is what it probably felt like. 

House visits were other strange occurrences in Lyra's new life. 

She knew that Mrs. Coulter did some kind of work. She was an explorer, after all, and a researcher. Lyra knew what that was like, vaguely. But what was different was that every now and then, some men would come into the flat and into Mrs. Coulter's office to talk about something very important. Mrs. Coulter would ask Lyra to stay in her room when they came, but Pan hid outside this time as a moth to see what was going on. 

"They're _Magisterium!"_ Pan's little moth voice squeaked. He was hiding around the corner of a wall tiling. "They're going into her study now."

This news came as a surprise to the both of them. They still felt a certain sense of disdain surrounding the Magisterium, from her uncle and the Scholars at Jordan. The Magisterium controls everything, she'd learned, or at least _wanted_ to control everything. They kept a careful eye on everyone's research to regulate activities and make sure the Church's teachings were respected. It thus bothered her for Mrs. Coulter to be involved with them now, for what was she doing? Why were they there? Wouldn't the Master and everyone else be upset if they knew? Lyra was determined to ask Mrs. Coulter about it, if she could. 

"Who were your guests today?" Lyra asked later at lunch, picking up her little cucumber finger sandwich delicately like Mrs. Coulter had taught her. 

"Just some men from work," Mrs. Coulter said lightly, eyes glancing over to Lyra. "Did you get your reading done today? The chapter on division?" 

"Did the meeting go well?" 

Lyra was being pushy, she knew, and rude. But she wanted to see how far Mrs. Coulter would let her go. Pan pricked his ears in her lap, tawny cat eyes narrowed. 

"Yes, it did," Mrs. Coulter said brightly, her smile wide. Lyra had to fight the instinct to smile back at her. "Thank you so much for asking. But back to the question: how did your studies go, dear?" 

" _I_ asked _you_ a question first, actually," Lyra couldn't help but blurt out. 

What happened next was something Lyra wasn't used to but, increasingly, would grow accustomed to. Suddenly Mrs. Coulter was crouching down next to Lyra's seat there on the terrace, her face very close to Lyra's. The golden monkey was under Lyra's seat, eyes trained on Pan. 

"Do not use that tone with me, Lyra," Mrs. Coulter warned, her voice still soft and light but her blue eyes hard. "It is disrespectful and hurtful to me when you speak in that manner."

Lyra simply stared back, momentarily frozen. 

"You must learn to keep your thoughts to yourself sometimes," Mrs. Coulter added, her eyes softer now. "And understand that when an adult very pointedly changes the subject about something, it is not for you to keep pushing. Now, finish your sandwiches and then go wash up. We're going to a museum to learn about art."

Their exchange bothered Lyra more than she'd initially realized. When she and Pan finished eating and went back to her bedroom, Lyra found herself moping about. 

"She was so _mean_ to us, Pan!" She wailed, feeling herself fighting back tears. 

"I don't know if that was actually mean," her daemon offered. He changed into an ermine and crawled his way up to her shoulder, nuzzling her ear. "She didn't yell and scream like Mrs. Lonsdale, did she?" Lyra shook her head. "She said it quietly, right? And explained herself?" 

He was right. Lyra sighed then, petting Pan's soft, milky fur. It was the first time Mrs. Coulter had _truly_ disciplined her. She'd made small comments before, correcting Lyra's posture or chiding something she was doing, but she'd never confronted her like this. Though she was softer and quieter than when Mrs. Lonsdale had lectured her, it felt scarier in a weird way. Perhaps because she otherwise had been so cheerful and so nice. 

Still, though, Lyra wondered as she went to wash her face in her little sink: was Mrs. Coulter's stern behavior directly related to her work with Magisterium men? Was there something about her work that she didn't want Lyra to know, and would get defensive in trying to hide? 

Later that evening it stormed again at the flat, wind howling and thunder loud. Lyra was propped up in her bed, tired but thoughts still whirling from the day's events and not quite comfortable given the volume of the thunder. Just as she was wondering if she could stuff something in her ear to drown out the thunder, Mrs. Coulter knocked on the bedroom door and came inside, holding a tray of chocolatyl. 

"Are you alright, darling?" the woman asked her, face serene as she came closer. 

Lyra was still upset at her. When they'd gone to the museum, Mrs. Coulter had been extra strict in a way that made Lyra feel like she was punishing her for the questions she'd asked about the men. She snapped at Lyra for pressing her face too close to the glass and practically yanked the knife out of her hand when she'd tried and failed to cut her own steak at dinner. She'd also been in a foul mood all day and simply wasn't fun to be around. The day had been very tense, but right now in a flowing white nightgown, Mrs. Coulter looked like the picture of contentment. 

"I thought we could have a special night," Mrs. Coulter explained a few beats later, handing Lyra a glass and moving to grab some of the pillows from Lyra's bed. "A storm-fun night. Have you ever stopped to admire a storm?" 

Slowly Lyra slid from her bed to join Mrs. Coulter at the window, feeling herself smile as Mrs. Coulter patted on a pillow and Lyra joined her on the floor, aware of a growing mustache on her lips from the chocolaty. Lyra appreciated moments like this, where she and Mrs. Coulter could simply be together. These moments were becoming rarer as Mrs. Coulter had to work more and Lyra started studying in earnest now as preparation for their future expedition. But she liked it. Craved it, even. 

They sat on the floor in their pajamas gazing out the full-length window, Lyra leaning so close to Mrs. Coulter that their arms brushed. Mrs. Coulter looked at her watch after each strike of lightning to count how long before it thundered, which the old myth said indicated how many miles away the lightning struck. Lyra was always surprised, since the thunder sounded so loud yet was apparently so far away from them. It was as if it were running away and playing cat and mouse, never quite where they thought it would be. 

"Were you afraid of storms when you were little?" Lyra asked her, tilting her head to the side. Pan settled down into her lap as a big-mouthed chipmunk, staring up at Mrs. Coulter, too. 

"For a little while," Mrs. Coulter answered, her eyes suddenly distant, "but I always had my brother to make it less scary."

"You have a brother?" It surprised Lyra, as Mrs. Coulter had never mentioned him before now. There were a lot of things she probably didn't mention, Lyra realized (thinking darkly about the Magisterium men), but she felt like a brother was a big thing not to mention. With a start, she wondered if something had happened to him, too, and if it was rude of her to ask.

"I do," Mrs. Coulter answered softly, smiling at Lyra's contorted face. "It's alright to ask, dear. His name is Marcel. He's actually my twin brother."

"Your _twin?"_ Lyra half-sat up as Pan flew into the air an owl, eyes bright. "That's so cool! I've always wanted a twin. Then you'd always get someone to be on your side during battles and challenges!" 

Mrs. Coulter laughed at that, gesturing for Lyra to sit back down and moving to get the glass of chocolatyl out of the way. "Yes, I suppose it is nice, to have an automatic friend in that way."

"Can I meet him?" Lyra asked suddenly, getting ahead of herself in her thoughts already. "Does he have any kids I could play with?" 

Lyra didn't expect to see the flash of sadness that reached Mrs. Coulter's eyes. It was deep and probing, as if Lyra were talking about Uncle Asriel dying again or something else that would lead the woman to look as if the world were falling apart. Lyra didn't quite understand it, really, and was still feeling too excited and exhilarated to care. 

"We haven't really been in touch," Mrs. Coulter sighed, turning away. The golden monkey was fidgeting by her side. "Sometimes when you grow up, time gets away from you, and the people who mean the most to you start to fade away."

Lyra thought of Roger at the sentiment, and felt like she could feel Mrs. Coulter's sadness for a moment. "I don't think I ever want to grow up, then."

Mrs. Coulter looked back at her, the sadness replaced by something inscrutable as she moved to touch Lyra's face. "I don't want you to, either," she said in a whisper before she looked back out the window and pointed as a flash of lightning filled the sky. Lyra leaned in and watched, feeling Mrs. Coulter's arm snake around her side to hold her close. She felt so warm, nestled there like that. Safe. Protected. _Loved._ And Lyra started feeling bad about all the mean thoughts she'd had about Mrs. Coulter earlier in the day, for she was so kind and so gentle and so good to her. 

When it was so late that Lyra could barely keep her eyes open, Mrs. Coulter half-carried her over to her bed and tucked her inside, giving her back all the pillows. 

"Sweet dreams, my sweet Lyra," Mrs. Coulter said to her. She began to stroke her hair, which had become a familiar motion to Lyra now, as well as one of her favorites. After a childhood long neglected of a motherly touch, it felt good for someone to do this. It felt natural. 

"I'm so happy you found me," Lyra muttered after a while, her eyes drooping shut as Mrs. Coulter's hand moved slowly back and forth. She felt Mrs. Coulter pause then, and she opened her eyes to peep over at her. 

That _look_ was back, from at Jordan when Mrs. Coulter had first cared for her after Uncle Asriel died. It seemed pained now, as Mrs. Coulter stared intently down at her and her free hand lying on the bed tightly gripped the sheets. The atmosphere in the air changed, too, from easy and warm to incredibly tense. 

"What's the matter?" Lyra asked, suddenly worried. Had she said something wrong? Pan didn't think so, as he changed from an ermine into a cat, creeping closer to the woman. 

"Nothing," Mrs. Coulter said, although her voice was stiff and tight, as if holding back a cough or something. 

Lyra meant what she said, and didn't mean to upset the woman. Her time with Mrs. Coulter had been wonderful. Although the circumstances of their meeting were terrible given it was because Uncle Asriel was gone and Lyra was learning that Mrs. Coulter expected a lot from her, she was still glad they had met, and that Mrs. Coulter had offered to take her in. Mrs. Coulter had saved her. 

She was thinking of what she could say to remedy the situation when Pan did the most amazing thing: he moved forward and rested his little head down on Mrs. Coulter's hand. 

Both Lyra and Mrs. Coulter gasped at the motion. Touching another person's daemon was both a taboo and a highly intimate act. A daemon was for no one else to touch, unless they decided otherwise. And here Pan was, offering his fur and his presence to Mrs. Coulter. Lyra had never felt this before, how _cold_ it was to feel another human being through Pan. It was different, but at the same time, it felt strangely right and comfortable, since it was Mrs. Coulter and she'd been nothing but kind to the both of them. 

Mrs. Coulter's eyes were unreadable as she gazed down at Pan, whose amber eyes blinked as he gazed up at her. A moment later and her own eyes softened. She carefully shifted her hand so that she could scratch under Pan's chin. He started purring as he closed his eyes, leaning closer to her. 

"I'm happy I found you, too," Mrs. Coulter crooned back, brushing the side of Pan's face with her palm before pulling her hand away and turning back to Lyra. "I don't know what my life would be like without you."

Lyra's heart swelled at that—enough for her to miss the ongoing behavior of the golden monkey daemon, who had stayed far away from them as Mrs. Coulter interacted with Pan and, when it had first happened, uttered a most tortuous and longing whimper. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At the end of the day, I just really want Lyra to have a mom. :')


	6. Ignited

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mrs. Coulter faces pressure at work and develops a plan. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone—here is chapter 6 of our tale! I love writing from both Lyra's and Mrs. Coulter's respective POVs, but I think I might like Mrs. Coulter's most of all, because we also get the golden monkey when we delve into her thoughts. :)
> 
> Quick note about timeline, again: given the book timeline, I think Lyra ends up at Bolvangar at some point in the winter (or right before), after the Station had a few months to really improve their technology. I take it that around the time of this chapter (right before summer) Mrs. Coulter would have done more work there, hence the direction of this plot. Of course, a lot of things are different about this story, but I am trying to (even loosely!) work with some of the main timeline.
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoy it!

**CHAPTER 6**

**Ignited**

"What a surprise," Mrs. Coulter sang sweetly, her heels clicking on the tile as Father MacPhail and one of his spineless cronies suddenly appeared at her lift. "Back again for some more fun?" 

The men simply nodded their greetings to her before making their way over to her study, shoulders slumped and footsteps heavy. _They're too comfortable,_ the monkey growled in her thoughts, watching them move from his perch just outside Lyra's room. _Who do they think they are, letting themselves in like this? Interrupting whatever we might have been doing?_

They'd barely had any time to warn Lyra and make sure she stayed put and out of sight, the golden monkey on guard. It was imperative the Magisterium didn't know she was here. That much had _always_ been clear to Mrs. Coulter for reasons she couldn't always fully articulate, and she'd gone to great lengths to make Lyra's move as low-key as possible. Had it been a different hour, perhaps they both would have been outside or in the living room, unable to avoid the intrusion. Mrs. Coulter was most angry at that, she determined, plastering a fake smile onto her face and following the men into her study. These men and their spontaneous arrival almost threatened something that Mrs. Coulter would _not_ allow to be threatened. 

The men sat down stiffly on the low chairs in front of the fireplace. The one whose name she didn't know (and didn't care to know) coughed while Father MacPhail watched her coolly. It felt oddly like a hunter staring down his prey. Shaking her head slightly, Mrs. Coulter sighed as she closed the door and turned the lock, slipping the key into the pocket of her flowy teal pant dress. The golden monkey sniffed before prowling to go sit nearby the men. He looked up at her for further instruction, standing by as she merely blinked once in his general direction. 

"It's lovely to see you again _,_ " she said to them, her voice sharpening around that last word. Once more the men merely stared back, faces unreadable. She gave an imperceptible nod to the golden monkey then, who slinked to the other side of the chairs. "How have you been since you visited two days ago?" 

She knew exactly why they were here. Things were not...going _well_ with her project in the North. They hadn’t been for a while. The past couple months had been hard for her, caring for Lyra and not being able to fully devote herself to her work in the way she would like and had been doing. They had a small group of children currently at the Station being tested and the results were grim: all deaths, no improvements. No indication of what went wrong and what needed to be corrected. The operation needed tweaking, be it a new blade, new chambers, different dispositions of the children in question. It was all very much a wild guess at this point, throwing mud at the wall and hoping it would stick.

The operation was hush-hush for this exact reason. Secretly funded by the Magisterium, but publicly denied when need be. It made Mrs. Coulter laugh, as well as despair, since it seemed like the perfect theme of her life—wanted in private and ignored when it counted. Even the golden monkey growled at that, still calculating the men’s mannerisms and which approach would best deal with them.

"By now I think you can see why we are concerned, Mrs. Coulter. Why the _Cardinal_ is concerned."

It took a lot of willpower for Mrs. Coulter not to snarl back at him. Father MacPhail was a bald, short man with eyes as piercing as any knife. He held a certain power over her at the moment, as head of the Consistorial Court. His group out-ranked hers, as he was keen to mention at every opportunity. And above that, he felt that _he,_ too, outranked her and was more important than her. And perhaps he was, because he was a man, and she was a woman. 

If only Mrs. Coulter were a man herself. Then her superiority over him and all the others would never be questioned. 

"I've told you already," Mrs. Coulter began lightly, taking care to keep her voice pleasant despite her growing frustration. "Things are under control. I am looking into the matter. We will problem-solve as we proceed."

"Will _you_?" Father MacPhail asked, tilting his head. "Personally, I mean?" 

"Well, I have my best scientists hard at work at the Station. I'll call—" 

"You see, Mrs. Coulter, the Cardinal was not satisfied with that answer.” Mrs. Coulter stopped speaking mid-word, watching as Father MacPhail rose from his chair to come closer to her. The other man remained seated, his eyes stoic and unflinching. The golden monkey’s eyes, however, were trained on the lizard resting lazily on Father MacPhail’s shoulder. “This is _your_ project, as you love to make clear, and the Cardinal is concerned that you and thereby the Magisterium are not present and involved.”

“I am involved,” Mrs. Coulter shot back more harshly than she’d intended to. “I just told you. They are at my beck and call. They keep me apprised of every development.”

“What I am saying, my dear lady, is that your involvement is not enough.” Father MacPhail was standing very close to her now, his dark eyes locked intensely with hers. Mrs. Coulter felt something almost like a shudder pass through her. It was as if he were looking through her to the very core of her soul. It was intrusive and violating yet something she couldn't quite escape. “The Cardinal demands more involvement. He wants a certain sense of assurance. He wants security.”

As much as Mrs. Coulter hated to admit it, this _was_ a surprise to her. The golden monkey rose from where he was sitting, his fur fluffed and his teeth bore into a grimace. They’d only been at this work for a few months total, with the planning having preceded it by years but the actual implementation still practically brand new. Science takes time in a way these people didn't seem to understand. Research like this is not linear; it does not progress neatly from step to step in the ways the Church might like. That’s what was exciting about research and the innovations Mrs. Coulter surrounded herself with. It was so new that no one could possibly predict what was to come. That came with a great risk, as she’d explained countless times before, and also with a certain degree of trial and error that simply couldn’t be avoided.

It was then that Mrs. Coulter couldn't help the bitterness that overcame her, when thinking about her work and the sacrifices she’s made. As a female academic, her research journey had been anything but smooth. While men are given the benefit of the doubt before they even begin their studies, women are treated with suspicion and underestimation. How did they _really_ get in, people constantly ask? Who's their father, or their brother? Who did they "happen to meet" that influenced their application? How are they even intellectually capable of such academic work? 

Mrs. Coulter had survived the accusations and the whispers to arrive at this very moment, and here she was—taking great steps to actually and meaningfully change the entire world as they knew it. Yet this was how she was treated. And this was the double standard she was held to.

“I’m afraid you’re going to have to speak even more plainly than that, father,” she said to him next, her voice calm but absolutely deadly. “I am but a mere woman, so I struggle to follow. What is it the Church wishes me to do?”

His eyes flashed, and at that Mrs. Coulter’s mouth itched into a smile. He was growing impatient with her. He’d never had much patience with her, which was comical given a man of his faith and his cause. 

“You need to return to the North yourself, Mrs. Coulter,” he explained very slowly, taunting her now. “You must speak to your team in person, and examine the children yourself and determine how to improve the operation. And then you must see better results or else we face no choice but to shut everything down and obscure ourselves from association with you and your work.”

Of course. Mrs. Coulter sighed, tilting her head and considering the man before her, who was not much taller than herself. She’d had a feeling this was coming, after her absence over the past couple months. The Magisterium didn’t know about Lyra, as incredible as that was. They probably knew she’d been seen spending time with an orphan child, but they didn’t know about her _own_ child living here, with her, after all this time and all these years. They certainly wouldn't approve, and Mrs. Coulter didn't even want to think about what they'd suggest she do with the "bastard child' if they ever found out. And so now, of course, she couldn’t explain why she really, _really_ didn’t want to go to the North at this very moment. She couldn't easily cover up her distance and her distraction. At least not on the spot like this. 

"Our work at the Station is cutting edge," Mrs. Coulter eventually responded, her daemon laughing at the pun. "We finally have an opportunity to understand Dust. You should be telling me to speed _up,_ not slow down."

"No one is questioning the worth that you keep _promising_ ." Father MacPhail's daemon flicked her little lizard tongue at that. "The Cardinal is simply concerned about _arriving_ at that promise, given the results."

"Science takes time," she offered, feeling a bit pathetic. She held the priest's gaze, though, refusing to back down. "I need more time."

"And you may have it," he said back, lips forming a grimacing smile. "All you need to do is concentrate more of your energy on it. _Yourself._ In person."

There wasn't anything else to say, really. In some ways this conversation and these demands felt like a punishment, like a lashing out at all the men's frustrations and misgivings about Dust. She wondered, vaguely, if it was these same frustrations and misgivings that impacted Asriel and his work. She wondered if he too received demands and lectures from the people funding _his_ work. She wondered if at last he'd refused, which ended up being the last thing he'd ever done. 

Mrs. Coulter cleared her throat as the monkey pranced pointedly toward the door. “I’ll show you out now, then, gentlemen. You can tell the Cardinal I understand and it is my devout honor to serve the Church and His wishes.”

_You can’t run away from this, Marisa,_ her daemon said to her later that afternoon. Mrs. Coulter had decided to clear her schedule and take Lyra out for a picnic in the park. It was a gorgeous day with the sun out and the clouds high in the sky. It was beginning to feel like summer now, as it was only a few days until June. 

Lyra and her daemon were running around in the fresh, open air, Pan soaring as a hawk and Lyra racing in circles alongside invisible companions. Mrs. Coulter had changed into a light blue sundress now, which perfectly matched Lyra's. She'd packed the lunch for them herself, making an array of ham and turkey sandwiches with sides of cheese, crackers, olives, and fruit, to be washed down with homemade sun tea that was currently brewing in front of them. 

As happy as she was in this moment, however, she knew the monkey was right. 

_I understand that,_ she thought back to him, smiling and waving as Lyra looked back at her after having done some like of leaping kick move in the air. _I just needed to take some time to think._

_Out here, with Lyra like this?_ Her daemon was skeptical, as always, his tail lashing out as he sat at the edge of the picnic blanket. _You never fully think when you're around her. She captures your orbit like the sun, and you follow her like a helpless planet._

That wasn't true, Mrs. Coulter wanted to believe. She wasn't one of those pathetic, doting mothers she'd laughed at over the years who gave up their education and their work to raise a herd of whiny, needy children. She had her own career, and her own great responsibilities. And she was still _doing_ it. Just not as fast or as thorough as the Magisterium would like. But she hadn't abandoned it. 

Not like she had abandoned Lyra eleven years ago. 

_That's the thing,_ her daemon nagged her. _You can't have everything, Marisa--your work, your influence, your child._

_This isn't about me,_ she couldn't help but whip back, her eyes again trained on Lyra. It was about _her_ , and about humanity, and about the future world she would grow up in. 

Didn't that Magisterium see that? Didn't they care about the future of the world? 

Before they could continue their feud Lyra was back, hurling herself toward the blanket with Pan by her side in his lithe tabby form. It was rowdy, the way Lyra scampered over to them and sat herself down, crumpling the blanket and dragging dirt onto its cover. It was uncouth and improper and not suitable behavior for a young lady. It was unacceptable. It made Mrs. Coulter tense. 

But, it was Lyra, who had been through so much in her short eleven years of life. And who very much needed the space and outlet to simply be happy in a world where she had much to despair. 

"Do you like being out here like this?" Mrs. Coulter asked after they'd dug into their sandwiches. Lyra was nibbling at hers as her eyes followed a pack of young children playing in the nearby distance. 

"I do!" the girl exclaimed, turning back to Mrs. Coulter now. Her dark eyes were so incredibly warm. Warmer than the gentle rays of sun shining on their skin. "I love the fresh air. Reminds me of being at Jordan."

_How can I deny her of this?_ Mrs. Coulter couldn't help but think, causing the monkey to squirm. _She deserves this. And so much more._

_It's not a matter of that,_ her daemon argued. _How can we do this, Marisa? We can't keep living in this perfect little bubble._

"I'm so glad," Mrs. Coulter responded to Lyra , keeping herself calm and collected. "I enjoy the fresh air, too."

"And I like spending time with you, Mrs. Coulter." Lyra was looking up at the woman again, grin contained but bright. Mrs. Coulter's collection began to unravel a bit as she smiled back at her daughter. "My uncle never spent time with me like this."

Her face fell at that. With a large jolt of feeling, Mrs. Coulter knew what was coming next. 

"Have you found anything about my uncle yet?" the girl asked, voice low. Pan changed back into an ermine as he crawled up to her shoulder, gazing at Mrs. Coulter, too. 

Mrs. Coulter had not, really. The reports were always inconclusive. It had _something_ to do with the Magisterium, she and her confidants were sure, but nothing that could be proven. Asriel had made many enemies with his research and his travels, so the pool of possible initiators was large. But there was something they were _missing._ There was something that just wasn't _right._

_What if the source was closer than they are considering?_ her daemon asked her. The thought troubled Mrs. Coulter, as she thought about the Master and the Librarian and the other men who'd known him better than anyone. She had her own suspicions, to be true. She'd made that perfectly clear back at Jordan. But her informants and spies weren't as positive, and dug in other directions. Nonetheless they hadn't gotten anywhere, and it wouldn't be any easier for Lyra to hear about the uncertainty. 

"Not yet, my love," Mrs. Coulter said sadly, reaching down to cup the side of Lyra's face. "They seem to stand firmly by an unexpected heart attack."

"But he was so healthy," Lyra protested. She moved away from Mrs. Coulter's hand to instead prop her face up on her knee, staring down at the picnic basket. Mrs. Coulter felt her heart practically clutch at her throat at the way the girl's entire body seemed to sag. "He was an explorer. He climbed mountains and crossed snow banks and sailed across the great ocean. How could he have a heart attack?" 

For a moment Mrs. Coulter felt as though she were drowning in the depths of her own feelings. She felt fire and rain and cold earth swirl all around her. It blurred her vision, even, as she felt herself detach from this moment. It didn't happen often, but when it did, she froze and couldn't move. 

Everything had halted, until she had no choice but to carry on. "I don't know, darling."

"Something's happened." Lyra's eyes were fiercer now. "I just know it. And maybe _I'm_ the one who can figure it out."

A look passed between the child and her daemon just then that was most curious. The golden monkey caught it immediately and watched them closely, as Lyra suddenly lifted her head and Pan stopped mid-stretch to stare at her. A sense of wonder and knowing passed between them that was gone as quickly as it'd arrived. But it had happened. There was more to that statement than what was on the surface, although Mrs. Coulter didn't have the slightest clue what it could be. 

A thought of Mrs. Coulter's own was brewing in her mind as she passively watched Lyra. She had to go back to the North soon. She didn't know for how long, and she didn't know when she would be back. But if she could convince Lyra that the answers to her questions somehow lived in the _North,_ and if she gave her some assignments to do that kept her _away_ from the Station… 

_You can't be serious,_ the golden monkey thought to her, head snapping up and tail thrashing. _Bring her to the North?_ **_With us_ ** _to the Station? That's ridiculous._

_But is it?_ She countered, considering Lyra again. The girl had moved to take her glass of ice tea into her hands, swirling it around lightly and listening to the clashing of ice. Mrs. Coulter could never leave her by herself here in London. It'd break her. They'd come so far and Lyra was doing well, but part of that rested on them being together and working through their collective grief. And she couldn't send her _back_ to Jordan with whatever the Master was up to, and however it had impacted Asriel. She couldn't leave her anywhere at all. She had to keep Lyra with her. 

_How would we even carry on the pretense?_ the monkey wondered. _We have no idea what he did in the North. We don't have the faintest idea of what she could find or who she could talk to to stay busy._

_But we know some people who do._ The plan was quite simple, really, now that Mrs. Coulter formalized it. Mrs. Coulter couldn't help her hands from clapping together. Lyra looked up at that, shaken from her daze, and Mrs. Coulter absolutely beamed down at her. 

"Let's move along now, Lyra," Mrs. Coulter practically sang, almost breathless as the plan was continuing to form. "How about a quick spot of ice cream before returning home? Hmm?" 

Lyra was delighted as she scrambled up from the blanket. She darted forward before halting suddenly, seemingly remembering herself. She helped Mrs. Coulter fold the blanket and then tucked it under their arm as they made their way back over to the city. Mrs. Coulter took Lyra's free hand, and hummed a catchy tune as they strolled over to Tatino's ice cream shop. 

Lyra would be going back to Jordan College, but _not_ to stay. And Mrs. Coulter would be going, too, and conducting some _other_ kinds of research she really only could conduct in Oxford. 

_You're going too far,_ the monkey thought, practically pleading with her. _Just listen to yourself! There is no way you can pull this off, Marisa. Absolutely none._

_We'll see about that,_ she merely thought back. Perhaps she was going too far. Perhaps she was mad. But ultimately, Mrs. Coulter realized, letting go of Lyra's hand as they reached the shop and read the menu together, she didn't really care. 


	7. Reunited

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lyra reunites with a friend, even though so much has changed.

**CHAPTER 7**

**Reunited**

It was on the first day of June that Lyra _finally_ had a chance to see Roger again.

The opportunity presented itself almost seamlessly, despite Lyra having to push a little. After Mrs. Coulter had taken Lyra out on their lovely picnic in the park, they'd returned home to do some reading and paperwork. It was Lyra's least favorite thing to do, really, and she was bored the moment her eyes settled on the page in front of her. 

"Lyra, you're not concentrating," Mrs. Coulter chided softly, looking up from her own letters at Lyra hunched over a book on the history of the modern world and Brytain. "In what year did John Calvin become the last pope?" 

"Umm," said Lyra, flipping through the pages of her book to try and locate the part where she'd read about that. She could have sworn she'd _just_ read it. The name did sound familiar. 

_1530,_ Pan thought to her, yawning from his ermine perch at the side of her book. He'd always been better at books and remembering stuff than her, which she _hated._

"And when was the Magisterium formed?" 

"It was….at some point afterwards?" 

"Lyra."

Books were not what Lyra was best at. She sighed as she pushed the book away from her, which knocked Pan off balance and caused him to flutter into the air as a bumblebee. She wasn't in the mood and didn't see how any of this would help her become an explorer in the North. None of it had ever helped her—the stuff she learned from Mrs. Coulter or even the stuff she learned from the Scholars at Jordan. It was all _boring_ and useless in Lyra's eyes. Stupid stuff that interfered with all the exciting stuff. 

Mrs. Coulter pushed her own papers aside to gaze down at Lyra then, her hands folded together neatly and her eyes shimmering at her. She often did this, where she had a "what's the matter?" air about her whenever Lyra was starting to get upset. She didn't yell; she didn't even have to say anything. All she had to do was look at Lyra, really _look_ at her, and Lyra understood exactly what she meant. 

"I don't care about this stuff," Lyra muttered, averting Mrs. Coulter's eyes. "It's not stuff I'm ever gonna need."

"It's an important part of our history," Mrs. Coulter countered. Lyra prepared herself for a lecture. "Even if you don't go on to specialize in history, it's important that you understand what it is and how we arrived here. It's part of our culture and who you are. To study the present or the future is to study our history and its process of change."

Mrs. Coulter was very intelligent. That was the first thing that had struck Lyra about her when they'd talked together at Uncle Asriel's wake. She'd talked to Lyra about where she'd studied and what she'd learned and even what she'd written herself. It seemed like she knew _everything,_ and like she could learn new things by simply blinking at them. Lyra wasn't like that. It took her forever to concentrate, and she only wanted to learn things that _really_ excited her, like the North and armored bears and witches and traveling. In these ways, it felt like Lyra didn't fit into Mrs. Coulter's world and the way she was educated and learned. Lyra wondered if she were stupid, and if Mrs. Coulter would realize that and kick her out. 

"I'm not good with books," Lyra finally admitted after a long pause, looking back up at Mrs. Coulter. She was still smiling so nicely at her with those gentle, kind eyes. "I don't want you to be disappointed in me because of that." 

"Oh, Lyra." Mrs. Coulter shuffled her chair closer so that the two were sitting side-by-side. She moved her hand to rest it on Lyra's head, her fingers lightly teasing through her golden curls. "I would never be disappointed in you for that, darling. I just want you to try your best and learn as much as you can."

"But I _can't_." Lyra let out a great sigh, dropping the pencil in her hand. "It's so hard."

It was quiet for a moment as Mrs. Coulter continued to gaze at her, biting her lip slightly as the golden monkey jumped up onto the table to stare at Lyra. It was a comfortable silence, though, unlike some of their _more tense_ moments like those men from the Magisterium and anything related to Uncle Asriel. "Let's try something else, then," the woman eventually said, removing her hand and handing Lyra a fresh piece of paper. "How about you write to Roger? Tell him about how much you hate books. I'm sure he'll be able to sympathize with you."

The way Mrs. Coulter said that to her reignited Lyra's desire to see her best friend. It'd been so _long_ since Lyra had last seen him and they'd played on the rooftops without a care in the world, spitting seeds at Scholars' heads and making an obstacle course out of the chimneys. So much had changed since then, of course, which felt both strange and sad. Lyra wasn't the same person she was back in March. She was forever changed by Uncle Asriel's death. But Roger represented a part of her _before_ all that happened. Her time with him had been her true childhood, really—unstained and unrestricted. 

Lyra also needed to figure out what to do about what happened to her uncle. Back in the park, Lyra and Pan had an idea: the alethiometer. The Master had given it to Lyra shortly before she'd been whisked away by Mrs. Coulter, who'd quite frantically told her they had to go and to hurry along. The Master told Lyra the small golden device would tell her the truth, and that it had arrived at the College with her and thus needed to remain with her. He said it _belonged_ to her and was _destined_ for her, whatever that even meant. 

He'd _also_ told her that she needed to keep the device a secret, _especially_ from Mrs. Coulter. It was so strange, to keep secrets from her! Mrs. Coulter had been nothing but kind to her for the three months they'd been living together. She washed Lyra's hair and made sure she ate proper meals; she took Lyra for outings and helped her study, even when she struggled miserably at it. She'd disciplined her, to be sure, and seemed to always expect more from her, but Mrs. Coulter was nice. She was caring. Lyra _loved_ her, possibly more than she'd loved any other female figure in her entire life. 

Yet, a part of her still didn't want to tell her about the alethiometer. Pan didn't, either, especially after keeping a careful watch on that monkey, who still troubled Pan in a way he couldn't really explain. So they didn't say anything about it as Lyra picked her pencil back up and wrote to Roger, motivated again to try and go see him. 

Lyra tried not to pester Mrs. Coulter too much about visiting Jordan the rest of that day and the day after. She really did. She was calm and polite as could be as she sat for her lessons and ate all her food and smiled sweetly at the people Mrs. Coulter introduced her to. It was like a game, really, she and Pan figured. Be as perfect as possible so that Mrs. Coulter would give them whatever they wanted. Wait patiently for an opportunity to be rewarded. Prove to themselves that they could do it and they were good at it 

"You've been such a good girl, dear," Mrs. Coulter said to her after Lyra sat through a particularly painful early-morning breakfast with what she gleaned to be stuffy Church people. They were in the car on their way back to Mrs. Coulter's flat, sitting side-by-side in the back seat. 

Lyra smiled up at the woman, moving to gently take her hand. She could practically feel the joy Mrs. Coulter exuded at the act and at her sweetness. "I'm trying very hard, Mrs. Coulter."

"You're doing so well," the woman affirmed her, blue eyes soft as she squeezed Lyra's hand and looked down at her. 

_Do it now,_ Pan urged her, purring on her lap as his second-favorite form of a tabby cat. For his part, he stepped forward so that his paw lightly touched Mrs. Coulter's knee. Lyra felt the surge of cold in her system again, which this time felt less pleasant than when Pan had touched Mrs. Coulter before during the thunderstorm. The woman, however, seemed not to feel a difference. She breathed in happily at the contact as her smile widened even further. 

"I was wondering about something, Mrs. Coulter," Lyra said after a few more beats, aware of Pan lingering just for a moment longer before pulling his paw away. Lyra instantly felt better. 

"What were you wondering about?" 

"Do you think we can visit Jordan soon? Writing to Roger made me _really_ miss it." 

Pan was measuring not Mrs. Coulter's reaction but her daemon's. They'd noticed during their time together that the monkey seemed to reveal more of Mrs. Coulter's raw emotions, as the woman usually had an unreadable expression. But now the monkey was _also_ inscrutable, his beady black eyes merely staring passively at Lyra. For once, it seemed as if they were in sync, and as if this request didn't surprise or bother them at all. 

"That sounds like a lovely idea," Mrs. Coulter chimed. She sounded happy, but also eager in a way that didn't quite make sense. "We'll have to think about it, after we plan your lessons this week. And then—" 

"I mean soon? Maybe…today?" 

The monkey stirred a little bit then, eyes narrowing. Pan felt a palpable shift in the other daemon's demeanor. He almost seemed like he was anticipating something, _waiting_ for something. Mrs. Coulter remained relaxed, however, still a portrait of grace and completely unfazed. Lyra simply stared up at her, eyes wide and innocent. 

"A trip like that takes planning, darling," Mrs. Coulter replied. She was still holding Lyra's hand, but the grip somehow felt tighter now. "We can't just get up and go on a whim."

"Oh, but Mrs. Coulter, I've waited for so long to see Roger," Lyra pressed, albeit gently. She'd learned that outright challenges did _not_ go well for her, at all. She had to keep her tone muffled and desperate, not argumentative. "And I miss him so much. D'you know it's been three months already, since you've taken me in and made my life better?" 

It was perhaps a bit overdone, but it worked. For whatever reason, Mrs. Coulter grew soft whenever Lyra mentioned or discussed how much happier she was living in London with her. Such framing brightened her and eased her mood, even if it was a particularly bad one. In some ways, it almost made Mrs. Coulter into a different person: one who was happy and attentive and absolutely perfect, just as Lyra liked to think of her. 

"That has been a long while," Mrs. Coulter replied, biting her lip and tilting her head. Again, the monkey was squirming in place. Almost breathless. 

"And I know you're very busy, but I'd love more than anything to be back at Jordan, and to be with you. It could be a vacation even, if we wanted. I could show you around Oxford!" 

Mrs. Coulter was sold. It was easier than Lyra would have thought, which perhaps should have bothered her more than it did. Instead, Lyra was over the moon with excitement. It was everything she'd wanted and it was _more_ than enough for her. 

"Are you going to bring it, Lyra?" Pan asked her an hour later as they were packing up their things. He was referring to the alethiometer, of course. It sat tucked away at the back of one of her dresser drawers, in the same case the Master had given her. They'd looked at it a few times since receiving it, but she'd never figured out how it was supposed to work. It was like a clock of sorts, but also a compass, similar to the ones Mrs. Coulter had shown her at the Royal Arctic Institute. It was such a puzzle, but it was very important. She just wished she knew how to use it. 

"Maybe if we can talk to the Master again he can help us with it," Lyra wondered aloud. Pan agreed, so Lyra took it from her safe hiding place and brought it over to her luggage. After staring down at her suitcase (a new, bright blue one Mrs. Coulter had purchased for her), Lyra realized she couldn't put it there. Mrs. Coulter was going to have to reorganize Lyra's suitcase since she couldn't figure out how to fold everything, so she _couldn't_ place it there. Mrs. Coulter would notice it and probably look to see what it was. 

"This will work." Lyra pulled out a little white shoulder bag, which was the _perfect_ size for the instrument. She tucked it inside and then popped the bag shut. 

"D'you think she'll be suspicious, though, Lyra? You've never worn a purse before."

"I'll tell her I'm trying to be more proper like her," Lyra decided. She felt a little guilty, being as deceptive as she was, but she also felt energized in a way she hadn't felt since leaving Jordan. They had a _purpose_ now. A real, meaningful purpose. Something to work for. A mission. Lyra thought with a flutter that her uncle would be proud of her, for working as hard as she was to solve the mystery of his death. It was the exact same thing he'd do for her, after all. 

Another hour later they were on a train to Oxford, with Lyra sitting by the window and staring out at the country scenary surrounding them as they headed east. She hadn't said anything, but Mrs. Coulter had booked them a train instead of an airship probably in response to Lyra's growing terror of airships. It was a little thing, really, to remember what Lyra had said about being afraid of airships and the way her family members seemed to die on them. But it meant a lot to Lyra. She felt heard and understood and cared for a way she couldn't possibly explain. With that, she felt an overwhelming sense of fondness for Mrs. Coulter then, and leaned away from the window to take Mrs. Coulter's hand and sit with her, listening politely to the woman's idle chit-chat about shops in Oxford she wanted to visit. 

Lyra's grand return to Jordan was quite bittersweet. They'd first dropped their belongings off at a hotel, which in and of itself felt strange to do when coming back to her Oxford. Walking through the iron gates of the college felt familiar yet foreign to her. While she'd run through them countless times before without even stopping to blink at them, now Lyra was entranced as she took in the tall, impressive metal and the way it connected to strong, sturdy stone. Her hand was fitted inside Mrs. Coulter's as she did so, which was another new experience—to be coming in _with_ someone and under someone else's care. 

"Can I go and find Roger?" Lyra asked as they neared the entrance hall. It was mid afternoon by now, which meant he probably wasn't working at the moment. She and Pan wondered if he went to the same places they used to go, or if he'd started doing something else. Three months _was_ a long time, for both of them. What if he had forgotten about them already? 

"Yes, you may," Mrs. Coulter answered, releasing Lyra's hand and giving her back a quick pat down, as Lyra had accrued some pollen from having jumped through flowers on the way over. "Just don't get into too much trouble, Lyra. I'll meet you in the great hall for dinner."

And off Lyra went, into the College to seek out her best friend in the only place she'd ever really known as home. The walls welcomed her as she pranced through them, shouting hello to Scholars and to servants alike as she made her way to the kitchens. Mr. Dawson was there, busy ordering about the staff. When she'd called his name, her voice almost breathless with anticipation, he looked over at her and absolutely beamed. 

"Now, if it en't Miss Lyra Belacqua!" he called out, his hands on his hips. "Look at you, all fancy!" 

Lyra was wearing one of the nicer dresses Mrs. Coulter had purchased for her: a dark green silk dress with a flowy hem and, as Lyra liked, a lot of room to move. She wouldn't consider it _fancy,_ really, but when she thought about all the hand-me-down dresses Mrs. Lonsdale had patched for her and the worn-out uniforms all the servants wore, she could understand the statement. 

_You’re different to them now,_ Pan thought to her, fleetingly. _You live in a world none of them could ever dream of._

"Where's Roger?" she asked after running over to him. She didn’t want to waste another moment. 

"I reckon he's out on the rooftop," Mr. Dawson offered, his mouth spreading into a smile. "He sure does miss ya, Lyra, and says the roof is a reminder of you."

She ran out the door, Pan bounding ahead of her as a cheetah. The College was always warmer in the summer. Temperature-wise, of course, but also in spirit. Classes were out for the year so the Scholars had more time for their own research. They often held big conferences once a week with guests from all over the entire world, coming to the grandeur of Jordan to hear the biggest and latest ideas. Lyra had liked all the conferences, especially since her uncle had historically been around more for them before his work had grown more serious in the North. He’d spent more time with her and allowed her to come to the fancy dinners and see the colorful picture slides all the Scholars prepared. 

This would be her first summer without him, she realized as she ran up to the fourth floor, which felt as familiar as if she’d been here only yesterday. It was her first _everything_ without him, really, as well as away from Jordan. Her uncle had said she’d stayed with a gyptian nurse when she was a baby, but she couldn’t remember that. She couldn’t remember her own mother, either, as Lyra had been so young when they’d been tragically separated. Jordan was the only home she’d ever known, and Lyra was pleased for it to still feel like _hers._ At least for the moment.

The sentiment fell as soon as Lyra opened the door to her old bedroom. It was entirely different. Her red sheets were exchanged with a bland beige. None of the knick-knacks she’d acquired but not taken with her were lined along the top of the dresser and on the edges of the wooden desk. It was empty and cold in a way Lyra hadn’t quite anticipated.

"Well, we left," Pan squeaked, on her head as a brown mouse. "What did we expect them to do? Have it waiting for us to return?" 

In a way, Lyra had thought that was what would happen. Mrs. Coulter _had_ posed their time together as "for a while," and to "keep each other company." _Did_ that mean completely moving out and away from Jordan, then? It seemed so, for the way they were keen to refit her bedroom to serve any old Scholar or student. Perhaps someone new would be sleeping in it come the fall, talking to _their_ daemon in the dark late into the night because they're too restless to sleep. 

"The window, Lyra," Pan reminded her, jumping forward as a red robin. 

It was unlocked and an easy climb for Lyra, after years and years of experience. She hadn't been up on a roof since she left, Lyra realized, standing up and turning her face to the afternoon sun. It was warm on her face, like a hug or a kiss hello. She dashed over to her favorite spot and, with a flutter in her heart, saw the one person she'd been dying to see for just over three months. 

"Roger!" 

She knocked him down with the sheer force of her embrace. They both tumbled down onto the shingles, laughing as their arms clung around the other and their daemons danced in the air as matching birds. 

"Lyra!" Roger exclaimed, breaking their contact to simply ogle at her. "I can't _believe_ it! Are you finally back?" 

"Just for today," Lyra answered, sharing his disappointment. "Mrs. Coulter brought me back, after I'd written to you. Have you seen my letters? I've been writing you all this time and you've never written back!" 

They bickered there on the roof at that, with Roger saying he never got them and Lyra insisting that she post marked the letters herself. It was light bantering, however, with jest in their voices and giggles after every every sentence. Lyra felt happy, being there on the roof with him like that. She kept punching him on the arm gently as they talked, making fun of him for this or that and simply just craving human contact. She felt safe and familiar in a way she hadn't felt in such a long time. 

"I've really missed you, Lyra," Roger said after a while, feet dangling off the ledge as they gazed down at the river. The summer sun was still bright in the sky as it dipped lower to the bottom. "I bet you're having all kinds of adventures out there."

"Not really," Lyra sighed. "There are so many rules and things to do at Mrs. Coulter's. And so many _books_ to read. D'you know she's having me read about the entire history of Brytain?! Going off about how a 'process of change needs to be studied historically' and all?" 

Roger laughed, and Lyra continued to complain about the math she was learning and the science she had to catch up on. She also expressed her puzzlement over all the London newspapers (there were so many of them!) and how it seemed like Lyra could never read them all. But she could tell that she was boring him. He was too polite to say anything, but this stuff didn't interest him and, the way his eyebrows furrowed, weren't always things he understood.

_Maybe Mrs. Coulter was right,_ Pan mused. _Maybe we are doing the kind of important stuff not everyone else gets to learn. Maybe we're special._

Still, Lyra didn't like isolating him like this. Even though he was clearly bored, he sat there and listened, his body angled toward her and his attention rapt as she spoke. He was her best friend, her reliable companion, her sweet and loyal Roger. 

"What have you been up to, though?" Lyra asked, deciding it best to change the subject. "Tell me about _everything_. I feel like I missed so much!"

So they sat on the roof together, Roger filling Lyra in about all of the College drama and Gytpian politics as they dangled their feet high above the ground. Their daemons purred together as cats bathing in the sun. The breeze was warm and light. Everything was perfect, and Lyra was truly and sincerely happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyra and Roger forever melt my heart <3 This chapter was originally going to be longer and also include what Mrs. Coulter was up to, but it got to be TOO long. So, stay tuned for that in the next chapter!


	8. Revealed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Lyra is with Roger, Mrs. Coulter conducts some special research. 

**CHAPTER** **8**

**Revealed**

As Lyra ran off to go find Roger, Mrs. Coulter remained at Jordan's entrance hall, staring at the Scholars passing by. 

It was finally the summer season. Prime research time for most academics, with the pause of lessons for undergraduates and freer schedules to travel and conduct field research. The Scholars were always so happy in the summer, with full research agendas and high hopes for publication and data collection. Their ambition was boundless and often superseded their actual capacities. Of course most of them also didn't have child care duties and other domestic responsibilities to attend to, which made their lived experiences unique from those of the few women academics who existed in society. 

_ What a shame,  _ the golden monkey drawled as they turned their gaze back to Lyra's retreating form,  _ that we never got to lead such a life ourselves.  _

Mrs. Coulter would  _ love  _ to have an entire summer devoted to her research as an academic. She would check out dozens of books from the library and read them all day, taking notes on helpful theories and interesting studies she could use to develop her own. She'd not bother with all her dinner parties and Church outings and instead talk with other academics at conferences across the country, sharing ideas and forming new ones and losing herself in the excitement of the research process. She'd get into fights with stale old men and their boring ideas, advancing her own, fresher ones. She'd also spend more, uninterrupted time in the North—if she didn't have Lyra.

But, she did, so her life was different now. She had responsibilities. She had a child in her care. She had a life that could not solely revolve around research. 

Once Lyra vanished from her sight, Mrs. Coulter turned around and went back the way they had come. It was a warm, summer day. Mrs. Coulter had left her jacket in their hotel room, as the heat was almost on the brink of too warm for her long-sleeved beige, silk blouse. The golden monkey trotted next to her, tail up and ears pricked as the wind gently rustled through his fur. 

_ We'll have to be fast,  _ he thought to her, watching a pair of children playing by the riverbank. They were dirty and scuffed up, with second-hand clothes and ill-fitting shoes as they ran around in circles.  _ We don't have much time.  _

Mrs. Coulter simply nodded to him, glancing at the children, too, before noticing an exasperated-looking woman wave her hands at them from a bench nearby. She then looked away and sighed, thinking about the children waiting in London that needed to be shipped out to the North immediately upon her return. She also thought of the group of men loitering around Oxford instructed to bring back a few more. There was simply so much to  _ do  _ and keep track of. 

They kept moving, weaving around people bustling around the outdoor market. Mrs. Coulter smiled and nodded politely as they went, keeping a respectable yet low profile with her head down and her pace quick. She didn't want to be recognized, given what they were here to do. It would be perfect if no one stopped her or recognized her at all and if she could just seemingly disappear into the crowd. 

A few minutes' walk brought Mrs. Coulter in front of a tall, concrete building with high windows and steep steps. She went up the stairs and entered a busy bank, pulling out a piece of paper delicately from her purse. She ran her fingers over one of the many little creases.

_ It'll be fine,  _ her daemon urged her, scoping out the other people waiting in the lobby. No one they recognized. No one important.  _ Everything is under sealed records still.  _

Mrs. Coulter simply frowned, biting her lip. 

"May I help you, ma'am?" said the bank teller ten minutes later as she advanced to the front of the line. He was young—no more than twenty or so—with messy blonde hair and large brown eyes with black spectacles. She smiled at him as she approached the counter, exuding all the sweetness and allure she could muster. He smiled back, his eyes darting across her face and his features softening considerably. 

_ This is it,  _ the golden monkey thought to her, growling.  _ You can't take it back once you do this. _

_ I know,  _ she sighed in return, setting her bag on the counter and blinking her eyelashes at the teller. She wasn't nervous or anxious. She didn't  _ get  _ nervous or anxious, really. But this was different. This was  _ important.  _ And she had to get it right. 

"I'm here to retrieve my child's property," Mrs. Coulter began sweetly. "Property left to her by her late father." 

"The name on the account, please?" 

"Belacqua." The man's eyes widened. "Asriel Belacqua, left to his only heir, Lyra Belacqua."

"I-I see," the teller replied, eyes still wide as he bent down and flipped through his ledger. "Ah, yes, they reported his death…three months ago now?" 

"Yes, that's right."

"I was so sorry to hear of that, truly." His eyes flicked over to her and then away again. "Now, you wouldn't, uh, happen to have his bank book, would you?" 

"Unfortunately I don't." His brow furrowed, and Mrs. Coulter tilted her head to the side, sighing heavily. "I'm afraid it was lost in all of the commotion." 

"Alright," the young man said, eyes back in the ledger. "No one else is listed as an owner of the account. Are you…his wife?" 

"No," she mused, stopping herself from laughing at the question as the man's eyebrow shot up. Mrs. Coulter wanted to laugh at the thought of  _ her _ being  _ Asriel's _ wife. After all this time. It was an amusing thought, but also distressing in a way she couldn't afford to process right now. 

"Oh, okay, very well. It looks like, yes, Lyra Belacqua is the beneficiary of the account and the deposit box. Is—is she here with you, ma'am?" 

Again Mrs. Coulter shook her head and batted her lashes, explaining how poor Lyra was receiving an award in her father's honor at the College and was being so brave and so strong. The man shuffled around in his seat, loosening the knot of his tie a little. Mrs. Coulter  _ knew  _ this would be a problem and realized what a reach this was, but she was in too far now to turn back. The damage was already done. 

"I understand, ma'am, but you see, our policy is that the beneficiary in question needs to be present to retrieve any belongings in the box. For security purposes, of course."

"Oh, but I'm here on her behalf," Mrs. Coulter insisted. She leaned forward a bit at that, her hair falling from tucked behind her ear and her perfume swirling the man's senses. "I have my custody papers here, if you need proof."

"I-it's not about the proof, ma'am," the man stuttered, loosening his tie a little more. He was sweating now, and more visibly nervous. The golden monkey peeked at the man's daemon from under the wooden table. His daemon was a black cat, who was gawking at the money from around the table leg. 

"Can't you help me, please? What is your name?" 

"My—it's Tom."

"Oh, please, Tom." Mrs. Coulter leaned even closer still. "I don't know what to do. Lyra needs to leave town with me now, to start school for the summer. It was Lord Asriel's most ardent wish for her to study abroad and I've got it all arranged for her. So we need to tie up all the loose ends here in Oxford, and today is all the time we've got left. Can't I just show you her papers, and show you my identification so you know she's my child and I am just here to collect it on her behalf?"

She almost had him. His breathing was faster now as he looked at her and then his ledger and then off to the side toward a tall, older man at one of the high-top desks. Mrs. Coulter imagined he must have been the manager, and Tom was debating whether or not to involve him or whether or not to bypass him. 

"You don't have to tell anyone, Tom," Mrs. Coulter whispered to him, gazing into his eyes. "I know you want to help me, and you can. And we don't have to mention it again. Will you do this for me and my daughter?" 

He gulped and a moment later nodded, his eyes dropping to the paper in Mrs. Coulter's hand. She tried not to smile too smugly as she handed him the paper and pulled her identification card from her wallet. Tom stared at the papers intently, his eyes fixed on the Magisterium seal of approval under Mrs. Coulter's official adoption of Lyra—an act the girl herself didn't even know about yet. 

_ It's all sealed,  _ the golden monkey reminded her. They'd indeed had the adoption done secretly yet officially, right after taking Lyra back to London. She'd retrieved it from the Master's office and forced him to sign off with the Librarian as witness. Lyra was hers, officially and legally hers, yet still under the sealed order originally endowed to Lyra when she'd first come to Jordan. 

It was almost completely perfect, except when it wasn't. 

"It says, you—you're the birth mother, but then you…recently adopted her again?" 

"It's a long and tragic story, Tom. She was taken from me and we only just were reunited again."

"But this—the adoption happened at the same time, the day after her father's death." Tom's eyes were wide again now, not out of surprise but fear as he seemed to take Mrs. Coulter fully in for the first time. 

"Oh, Tom," she simply laughed, resting her elbow comfortably on the table. "You make it sound like I'm some kind of murderer-kidnapper. Do I look like one to you?" 

He wasn't so sure, it seemed. His eyes again flicked over to the manager. If he were smart, he would go get him and stop this at once. He wouldn't even consider giving her access to Asriel's security deposit box. But he wasn't in his right mind, it seemed. He hesitated for too long. He stared at her too helplessly. He listened to her too closely. 

"I just want to help my daughter," Mrs. Coulter told him, pulling out a photogram she'd taken of Lyra and herself a few weeks prior. They were at the Royal Arctic Institute standing in front of one of the special exhibitions. The first thing that struck Mrs. Coulter was how  _ happy  _ they looked—large smiles and squinted eyes as Lyra wrapped her arms around Mrs. Coulter's waist in a side hug and Mrs. Coulter bent down to press her cheek against hers, both faces radiating contedness. It was a rare moment of tenderness between them, captured perfectly on camera. 

"She—she looks like him," Tom said softly. The monkey noticed the man and his daemon start to calm when looking at the photogram of the happy child and the kind lady. "I'd recognize that face anywhere."

"Extraordinarily so," Mrs. Coulter said, "except for the eyebrows." She winked at him then. "She has my eyebrows, you know."

Tom smiled at that, looking back over at Mrs. Coulter and handing her back the photogram and her papers. Mrs. Coulter noticed he glanced at the manager again once more before he copied down an account number from his book and stood up. "Right this way, ma'am."

It was almost too easy, Mrs. Coulter thought as she followed Tom over to the safety deposit section of the bank. They held them in their own room, locked first by a master lock the bank controlled and locked again by the specific box's key. Mrs. Coulter didn't have it, of course, so Tom had to accompany her into the room. 

"I'm really not supposed to do this," he said to her again, looking back at the door as they entered the vault. 

"You're a very kind man, Tom," Mrs. Coulter offered, resting her hand on his arm. "I appreciate all you're doing to help me and my daughter. It's the right thing to do."

He nodded, his daemon still shyly standing away, however, eyes narrowed. He pointed out the box to her and then dug into his pockets and flipped through his keys. It took him a moment to find the one he was looking for when he then handed it out for Mrs. Coulter. 

"I will, uh, be right outside, ma'am," he said as she took it, her hands gently grazing over his as she did so. "J-just let me know if you need any further assistance."

"Thank you, Tom," she sang as he headed for the door, keeping her smile in place just long enough for him to exit the room. 

"What are you waiting for?!" the golden monkey growled, moving over to the box and shifting impatiently on his hind legs as Mrs. Coulter stared at the box. "Get on with it!" 

Mrs. Coulter needed a moment to savor this moment. She was at the precipice of uncovering Asriel's secrets—at least the ones stored in this security deposit box. She only knew about it from her detective work after his death, of course. Her informants had tracked down  _ other  _ informants who had been watching Asriel for years. Every time he returned from the North he made a stop at this bank, sometimes carrying a briefcase. It made sense for him to do so, Mrs. Coulter supposed, as a bank was  _ supposedly  _ safer than any security measures in one's private residence. But whatever it was that he stored here was important. She could sense it. 

_ "Marisa!"  _

The monkey was almost beside himself. His little body was shaking as he glared up at her, his eyes so sharp and intense they almost stung. Why was it that he was always more eager and restless than she was? How could a person and their daemon feel and manifest such completely different things? 

"I'll do it myself if I must," he spat to her, and Mrs. Coulter laughed. It was a cold laugh, however, as she realized the monkey was channeling all of her own ambition in discovering what Asriel had been up to and how it could help their own work while Mrs. Coulter was primarily interested in what they could find to help with Lyra. 

"Such a selfish thing you are," she tutted to him as she bent forward and placed the key into the lock, the golden monkey squealing at the "click" and at Mrs. Coulter opening the lid.

In a way, she should have been disappointed. While she'd imagined there'd be stacks of documents that would tell her everything she wanted to know, there was simply one rather thick envelope. 

_ "Open it!"  _ the golden monkey hissed. 

"Not here," Mrs. Coulter whispered, aware of the many minutes they'd been in there as it was. "We need to get out of here before anyone realizes what happened."

To her daemon's dismay, Mrs. Coulter slipped the envelope deep into her bag before closing the lid, turning the key, and pushing the box back into place. She then snapped her purse shut and headed back over to the door. 

"All settled, then?" Tom asked her as she exited, eyes flashing nervously across her face. 

"Yes," she answered easily, moving to put the key into his hand and closing her fingers around it. "You've been  _ such  _ a dear today, Tom. I won't forget your kindness."

It was really a shame that she had to show him her actual name, Mrs. Coulter thought as she bid her farewells and walked away. She was hoping that he wouldn't have checked, and that he wouldn't have had to see everything. Poor Tom, she pouted, allowing herself to feel something resembling sympathy as she left the bank and headed over to a nearby payphone. She slipped in a coin and looked out at the busy late-afternoon crowd. At least he was young and would be able to start anew when she inevitably had to have him locked up by the Magisterium and taken out of the scene. 

"It's done," she simply said to the man on the other end of the phone, and there was a second of silence before he hung up and Mrs. Coulter clicked the phone back on its receiver. 

_ Don't you want to see what's inside?  _ the monkey pressed as they made their way back to Jordan, walking along the side of the Isis river. 

Of course Mrs. Coulter did. She was curious to know that all of those stops to the bank resulted in one envelope. What was in it, Mrs. Coulter wondered, and why was it so valuable to leave in a specific bank in Oxford and not at one of his homes? Why was it still there, three months after his death? Did no one else realize it was there? Had Mrs. Coulter truly uncovered his secrets? 

The thoughts had to wait as they returned to Jordan. They entered the building and smiled at the servants waiting for them, bowing politely and leading her over to the dining hall. She sat alone at the head table, as it seemed she was the first person there. She'd always liked to be early, no doubt, but sometimes it was rather lonely. 

"Mrs. Coulter."

Not two minutes later Mrs. Coulter heard that distinct deep voice and heavy footsteps approaching. She smiled as she turned around to see the Master, his hair dull and gray, his gait slow, and his face frowning. She didn't bother to stand up for him as she waited for him to arrive. 

"How lovely to see you, Master," she offered once he'd sat himself down across the table from her. 

"I'm sure," he answered wryly, pausing to thank the servant for filling his wine glass. "I must say it was a surprise to learn of your sudden visit."

"Lya missed her little friend. I thought it'd be nice for her to see him, and get some fresh air in the country. The city can be quite polluted at times, you know."

"Why are you  _ really  _ here, Marisa? Bored with her already?" 

The golden monkey let out a growl then from his place beside Mrs. Coulter on the bench. She slipped a hand on top of his back, gripping him tightly as she merely kept smiling at the man in front of her. He didn't intimidate her. He held no power over her. Not anymore. She had everything she wanted and he was merely an old, waning man. 

"I care about her a great deal, despite what you might think," she said to him softly, sipping her own wine glass. "And she loves me. Never wants to leave my side, the little dear."

"And who does she think you are to her?" The challenge in his eyes taunted her. "A kind, rich woman taking in an orphan?" 

"What does it matter?" Mrs. Coulter countered, shrugging. "She's safe and she's happy with me. I don't see a need to complicate that."

"It's the coward's way out and you  _ know  _ it, Marisa. You're doing her a disservice."

"I don't need  _ you  _ to tell  _ me _ what's best for my child." Mrs. Coulter set her wine glass down more harshly than she'd meant to, causing the liquid to splash at the sides. "Lyra is doing better now and I'm doing everything I can to keep it that way. She's also excited to see you, so I expect you to be kind and good to her while we are here."

Others started piling into the hall soon enough, which made the unbearable tension between the two of them much easier to manage. Some senior Scholars came to distract the Master from gazing loathingly at Mrs. Coulter, who tilted her head and smiled back making small talk that he refused to engage in. She then turned her attention to the Guest Scholars joining them at the high table, who were visiting from Norroway and New Denmark. They were perfectly and delightfully boring enough, which gave Mrs. Coulter time to let her mind wander and consider how, exactly, she wanted to further investigate the Master on the matter of Asriel's death. 

It was just as the dinner plates started to roll out that Lyra appeared by her side, out of breath and absolutely  _ filthy.  _

"Lyra," Mrs. Coulter said, not even trying to hide her tone of disapproval. "Look at all that dirt on your face! Didn't you wash up for dinner?" 

"I didn't have time," Lyra insisted, watching as the golden monkey dipped a napkin into a glass of water and then handed it to his human. Mrs. Coulter then dabbed at Lyra's nose, cheeks, and forehead with it, causing the girl to shrink back. "It's not that bad, honest!" 

"I'll be the judge of that," Mrs. Coulter said, lighter in tone now. She was aware of the Master staring intently at her, almost  _ through  _ her. "Why don't you say hello to the Master now, Lyra? He's been waiting to talk to you."

It was slightly painful to watch the joy with which the two interacted. The Master asked Lyra all about her new life in London, from what she read to where she went to who she saw and what she ate. It was most likely prying, Mrs. Coulter thought, as well as making sure Lyra wasn't being abused in any way. As if Mrs. Coulter would ever do that! Lyra chatted happily away, often ignoring the food on her plate and requiring Mrs. Coulter's gentle reminders to eat up while the Master was talking. 

When dinner ended and the Scholars started shuffling out of their seats, Mrs. Coulter expected to take Lyra back to the hotel when the Master came over next to them. 

"Mrs. Coulter," he said to her, his voice perfectly calm and kindly as if they hadn't just exchanged threats across the table an hour before. "I was wondering if I might borrow dear Lyra for a short while."

Immediately Mrs. Coulter was suspicious, gazing at the Master coolly. She didn't trust him. Not one bit. Not with what happened to Asriel and the way he was behaving earlier. Part of Mrs. Coulter feared he'd take her and never give her back, forcing Mrs. Coulter out of the College and claiming Scholastic Sanctuary on Lyra's behalf. 

_ That's a bit extreme,  _ the monkey thought to her, but he wasn't entirely at ease either, his fur ruffled and his eyes narrowed at the man and the crow. 

"Oh, I don't know, Master," she said sweetly, reaching to wind her arm with Lyra's. "We've had such a long day, and we have an early train to catch in the morning."

" _ Please,  _ Mrs. Coulter?" Lyra asked, leaning close to her and lifting her head up to gaze into Mrs. Coulter's eyes. Mrs. Coulter almost gasped, as it looked like a miniature Asriel staring at her. "I miss spending time with the Master so very much. I won't be too late, I promise!" 

_ But why does it have to be alone?  _ Mrs. Coulter couldn't help but think, noting the way the Master's eyes glinted triumphantly at her.  _ And how can I possibly deny her of this?  _

"Alright," Mrs. Coulter finally said, trying hard not to frown as Lyra's face lit up and she ran over to the Master. "I'll be waiting in the library, catching up on some paperwork. Call for me when you're finished, will you?" 

"Of course." The Master's eyes were surprisingly soft as he gazed down at Lyra, putting his hand on her shoulder and squeezing gently as she started babbling again about something she'd seen on their journey over. In all sincerity, the Master loved her. Mrs. Coulter could easily see that in the way he talked to her and simply looked at her. The girl had been in his charge since she was an infant, after all, so Mrs. Coulter could understand that, even if she didn't like it. 

"I'll see you soon," Mrs. Coulter called out as Lyra and the Master walked away, feeling like a young mother sending her child off to school for the first time. 

_ Pathetic,  _ the monkey grimaced, but she ignored him as she found her way to the library and then finally reached into her bag for the envelope. 

It was perhaps risky to do it here, but Mrs. Coulter needed to take advantage of her time away from Lyra. Her daemon kept watch as she pulled out the thick envelope, his eyes guarding the door as she broke the envelope's seal. They were both growing breathless now as she tucked her fingers under the fold and pulled out the lump of documents within. There many of them folded and stuck together. 

The first few pieces of paper were calculations, scribbled on napkins or on the sides of newspapers in very sloppy pen. She didn't have the patience to sort through them as she looked at more of the papers nestled deeper into the stack, going all the way to the very center. 

"Now, what do we have here," Mrs. Coulter said aloud, pulling open what turned out to be a detailed blueprint. The monkey abandoned his post as he crept closer to peer at the paper, his little nose almost touching the parchment. 

"Svalbard laboratory," he read out loud for her, eyes skimming the very top of the page. "Fit with windows to examine the aurora and instruments to measure Dust."

This was it. Very quickly Mrs. Coulter re-folded the papers and tucked everything back into the envelope, the monkey again glancing all around them. She felt excitement surge through her at the revelation of what he had been planning, where he was planning to do it, and who knows what else was distributed across the papers. 

"What are we going to do?" her daemon asked her as she closed her purse shut and then crossed her legs. 

"Make some more phone calls," she replied, not stopping the smile that spread across her face, "and visit a few more people before we get to work."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stray reflections on this chapter: 1) I LOVED, LOVED, LOVED writing that scene with Mrs. Coulter at the bank; 2) The Master vs. Mrs. Coulter is a serious showdown; 3) everyone comes together and behaves when Lyra is involved <3


	9. Incited

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lyra learns something new, and Mrs. Coulter has a fright.

**CHAPTER 9**

**Incited**

****

"All done?" 

When Lyra came out of the Master's study, she looked up to see Mrs. Coulter waiting for her. She had her hands clasped in front her as she smiled, her blue eyes soft and kind as Lyra ran up to greet her. The golden monkey was pacing beside her, moving his little tail with an air of suppressed impatience. She'd spent about an hour or so with the Master, talking about how she was and, most importantly, about the alethiometer. 

"I don't know how to use it," the Master had told her when she'd asked, his voice a heavy sigh as he sat down in his wooden chair and Lyra in one of the plush chairs at the front of his desk. "I never have. You arrived in my care with it, so I made sure you left with it."

"But how does it work?"

Lyra couldn't help the feelings of frustration that surged through her then. The Master had been a source of hope for her over the past few months, as someone who she thought would have the answers to the questions she raised. He was the wise, all-knowing Master, after all; he oversaw the entire College and met with so many Scholars from across the world. If even _he_ didn't know how to use the alethiometer, then how could Lyra? 

"What's wrong, child?" The Master looked over at her again, his eyes settled peaceably on her still-frowning face. 

"It's just…I thought you could help me." Pan changed back into a young raven now, fluffing his feathers. "I was hoping that _somebody_ could help me figure this out."

"Did you tell Mrs. Coulter about it?" The Master leaned forward at that, adjusting his glasses.

"You told me not to, so I didn't." 

"Good." He leaned back, visibly relieved. "I'm glad, Lyra. This is one area where you really need to do as you're told."

"Why can't I tell Mrs. Coulter about it?" Months of questions seemed to materialize on her lips. "Is it because some Magisterium people come to her apartment sometimes? What is she doing? Is the alethiometer something bad? Would she want to steal it?" 

"Lyra." His voice was soft and low but exerted such strength and power. Lyra stopped then, almost by instinct as she had so many times before. 

"Won't you tell me?" she asked him after a few more beats, feeling slightly overwhelmed. "No one tells me anything. And I can't even find the truth out myself." 

With a heavy sigh the Master stood up and made his way around the desk. He was old and slow, but his strides were steady as he came around to sit in the chair next to her. 

"My dear Lyra," he said to her, reaching to put his hand on her shoulders. "You ask good questions. Never stop thinking of and asking questions. Do you promise me that?" She simply nodded. "I don't have the answers you seek, as some are not mine to tell. I ask for you to maintain your discretion with the alethiometer, and to find your way with it when you can."

"But _how?"_ Lyra pressed, anxious to get at least one tangible answer from him. She held the machine in her hands, and reached out to show him. "I don't even understand how it works. How am I supposed to learn what it says?" 

"Look at the needles, Lyra," the Master instructed, his gaze shifting down. "What does it remind you of?" 

She considered the question for a moment, her brain reaching for anything that might be relevant. "A compass, like the ones Mrs. Coulter showed me at the Royal Arctic Institute."

"Very good. What else? Think about it now."

Again Lyra gazed at it, her eyes locked on the many handles and, beneath that, the little red line moving to and fro. "A clock?" 

"Indeed. And how does a clock work?" 

"By moving around the circle," Lyra thought aloud, "one hand on the minute and the other on the hour."

"Now, you'll see there are no numbers here but rather symbols, and a few more hands. Think that over, Lyra, and about what it might mean."

It was quiet as Lyra continued staring at the alethiometer, considering what the Master said. It felt like she was in a lesson with him. He was always more patient with her than the others were. Even more patient than Mrs. Coulter, actually, as she expected answers swiftly and was most displeased when Lyra couldn't produce them. What if it worked like a clock, with its hands pointing to the information it wanted to display? But how did they move, and how did that relate to the truth?

_Don't we have to ask a question to hear the truth about something?_ Pan wondered, back in his ermine form. 

_But how?_

She had so many questions, which were perhaps doomed to never be answered. 

"More importantly, Lyra," the Master continued, "has Mrs. Coulter been treating you well?" His voice was serious now as he peered over at her from beneath his glasses. There were more wrinkles and creases than she remembered in his face. He looked quite old, Lyra realized. Had he always been that old? How much could a person age in three months? 

"Yes," Lyra answered, her own eyes simply wide as she stared back at him. 

"Are you sure? You can be truthful with me."

"Honest, Master. She's the nicest person I ever met."

"Why do you say that?" The Master's daemon was staring down at her now, too, and Lyra suddenly felt as if she were being examined under a microscope. Pan felt uncomfortable, too, changing to a small hummingbird. 

"She takes care of me," Lyra offered. "She washes my hair and helps me with my clothes and takes me places. She teaches me stuff, even when I'm too stupid to learn."

"You're not stupid, child," the Master dismissed, although he kept staring at her. He seemed to be looking for something in her response. "Does she ever yell at you?" 

"Sometimes," Lyra admitted, remembering what happened with those Magisterium men and some other instances. 

"Does she ever hit you?" 

"Never!" Lyra felt insulted at the question, feeling Pan spin his hummingbird wings fiercely as her mouth gaped open and her brow furrowed. 

"Good, good," the Master continued. "Are you happy, Lyra?"

Lyra paused to consider this question for a moment. Was she _happy._ Lyra hadn't thought too much about happiness before when she was at Jordan. She lived life in the moment, running from place to place and taking joy in whatever she was up to. It was just the way it was, and she didn't know anything different. After her uncle died, though, Lyra remembered feeling so cold and empty inside. Everything felt like such a challenge. She remembered worrying that she'd never be happy ever again, that she'd never be able to smile or laugh or relax. 

But Lyra did. Once she'd moved in with Mrs. Coulter, she spent plenty of time laughing and smiling with her new caregiver. They watched funny plays and saw all sorts of museums and places around London; they giggled over chocolatyl and listened to thunderstorms and stretched out together on the sofa by the fire. They talked about her _feelings_ , too, about her uncle and about London and about everything else. Lyra wasn't afraid to be sad or angry or confused or unsure. 

Was it the same as when she'd lived at Jordan? No. So much was different. But was she _happy?_ Did she still find joy in things, even if some (like _studying_ ) still bored her senseless? Did the care Mrs. Coulter provided her outweigh the chiding lectures about being punctual and being clean and being polite? Did Lyra feel recovered after losing her uncle? 

"Yes," Lyra finally answered, feeling herself smile as Pan squawked approvingly. "I'm happy, Master."

"Lyra?" Mrs. Coulter brought her back to the current moment, gazing at her expectantly. 

"Oh, yeah," Lyra answered. "We're all done talking. He told me to wish you a good night."

"How sweet of him," Mrs. Coulter smiled, reaching out for Lyra's hand. She took it instinctively. 

They started to slowly stroll down the long hallway now. It was getting late and the torches were lit for the evening. Lyra used to love seeing the fiery array, as it was only ever lit after a certain hour at night and Mrs. Lonsdale and the Master had always ushered her back to her room for the evening after dinner. She felt older in a way, as she walked along the fire. Pan purred by her side as a Bengal Tiger, eyes glistening from the firelight. She felt cool and important in a way she hadn't felt even just a few months ago. 

"Ready to go back now, Lyra?" 

Lyra hesitated, looking down toward the kitchens as they reached the entrance hall. She knew Roger would be there, helping clean the dishes from the evening's meal. She hadn't exactly said goodbye to him, since they'd gotten caught up in a new obstacle course on the roof and had to bolt their back to the dining hall for Lyra to eat and Roger to serve. Their farewell had been piercing, cut off with a collective "I gotta go!" as they each scrambled off to where they needed to be. It wasn't a real goodbye for who _knew_ how long. 

Lyra did her best to explain this to Mrs. Coulter, surprised when the woman then said: "how about you find him and we take him out for some ice cream?" 

"But you said we have an early day tomorrow," Lyra parroted back to her. She almost wondered if she were hearing her right, because it was getting late already and Mrs. Coulter always wanted Lyra to take a couple hours before bed to wind down for the evening. It was "good for the mind," she'd say, along with "beauty sleep is important."

"Oh, that was just to avoid what I thought would be a boring time with the Master." Mrs. Coulter laughed then, her voice as light and sweet as the creamed cucumbers they'd eaten with dinner. Lyra couldn't help but smile back at her. "Go and fetch him, will you? I'll meet you back here." 

This was Lyra's favorite version of Mrs. Coulter—fun, easy-going, and adventurous. She wasn't always like this, of course. More often than not lately, she wasn't at all this happy person. She was moody and uptight and busy. She wasn't _mean,_ of course, and she indeed did make sure Lyra was well cared for, but she wasn't always as intoxicating in the way she was in this moment. And Lyra was glad for her good mood now, as she ran off to the kitchens to find her friend. 

"We can get _anything_ we want, Roger," Lyra was telling him as she yanked him out of dish-drying duties and ushered him away. "I mean it! She's rich and she buys me whatever I ask for. You can get the biggest sundae in the world."

"Really?" Roger's voice was almost squeaky as they scrambled up the stairs, Sarcilia skipping ahead with Pan. Lyra felt warmth radiate through her. She liked being able to give Roger things, even if it wasn't really _hers_ to give. They'd both been so poor for their entire lives, Roger more so than Lyra since at least her uncle had given her some things and made sure she always had a little bit of money that she'd foolishly waste. It was nice to live more in luxury now, though, and to have someone to share it with. 

_It's the way it should be,_ Pan added, happily fluttering through the air now as a blue jay. 

Mrs. Coulter was waiting for them on a bench near the front door when they came over to her. "Roger!" she greeted, standing up and reaching her hand out to pat the top of his head. "How wonderful to see you again. I take it you and Lyra have had a good day today?" 

_She's so good to him, too,_ Lyra thought to Pan as the trio and their daemons made their way. _Oh, wouldn't it be wonderful if he could come back to London with us?_

_Don't get yourself worked up,_ her daemon cautioned her, but Lyra knew that the thought excited him as much as it excited her. 

Lyra couldn't believe how late and how dark it was as they traveled over to an ice cream stand nearby their hotel. Again, Lyra wasn't used to being out at Jordan at night. While she'd scaled the roofs and roamed the town during the day, the Scholars were very keen for her to stay indoors at night, unless she ventured with one of them across campus for a special event. It was starting to get a bit chilly, too, but Lyra didn't mind. She ignored it and instead chatted to Roger as they figured out what ice cream they wanted.

"Do you mind waiting here for a moment?" Mrs. Coulter asked them once they'd gotten their sundaes (Roger's was practically falling out of its bowl). "I just want to go check something real quick…"

Lyra hummed her agreement without really paying attention to what Mrs. Coulter was doing or where she was going. She was aware of the woman saying something before shuffling off, but Lyra just sat and turned her attention to her sundae, taking a large spoonful of swirl custard and whipped topping and shoving it into her mouth rather unceremoniously. 

_You're not supposed to shove food into your mouth like that,_ Pan lazily tossed to her.

_Who cares! Mrs. Coulter isn't even here to make a fuss about it._

They sat in silence together for a few more minutes, legs swinging and mouths slurping up their ice cream. Their daemons chased each other around the bench, switching from different forms to see who could run the fastest. After a while, however, Lyra turned to look at a group of people standing a bit away. "What's that over there?" 

The two exchanged a mischievous grin as they gathered their ice cream and bounded over. It was a circus in town, actually, with a magician doing magic tricks and some acrobats doing dance routines on poles and lines. They'd come this way before, Lyra knew, but of course she'd never been permitted to see it. Roger hadn't, either, and his eyes were even wider than hers as they watched a man breathe _actual fire_ as his tiger daemon juggled water balloons and someone else twisted their way out of a complicated set of chains. 

"This is _awesome,"_ Lyra breathed, smiling over at Roger. He was mesmerized too, and simply gaped and oohed at the tricks and the acts and the magic of it all. 

It wasn't until Mrs. Coulter came looking for them that Lyra even remembered they were there with the woman at all. 

_"Lyra!"_

She felt hands grab her shoulders then, and she dropped the last bit of her ice cream as Mrs. Coulter whirled her around to face her, the golden monkey reaching out to grab one of Pan's tiger cub paws. Roger came over, too, and stared. 

"Oh, Mrs. Coulter!" 

"I asked you to wait for me." Mrs. Coulter's voice was oddly high-pitched and strained. Her breathing grew uneven. The golden monkey was beside himself, too, shrieking and shaking as he pulled for Pan to come closer and then growled at the people nearby. 

"I know, but we saw all these people so we thought we could—" 

"You can't _do_ this to me, Lyra!" Her eyes were lit with a strange, strangled kind of passion that Lyra hadn't ever seen in her before. She sounded almost manic now, too, with her veins bulging and the entire force of her being seeming to wash over Lyra. This disturbed Lyra the most. "It's not _safe_ out here for a child. Oh, my heart, Lyra! I was so very frightened and worried about you."

The woman lunged forward to grab Lyra again, although more gently this time. She pulled Lyra to her and placed her hand firmly on her shoulder, swooping down to kiss her head a few times. Moving now to avoid being crushed by Mrs. Coulter's embrace, Lyra saw Roger gazing at her with strong feelings of his own ebbing from him. 

_He's jealous,_ Pan figured, escaping the monkey's grip to go over to Sarcilia. _He's never had anyone to care for him like this, after all._

Lyra could understand that. It was only recently she found someone who cared about her as much as Mrs. Coulter did. She felt embarrassed at Mrs. Coulter's caress and her fussing, however, as well as perhaps a little guilty. "I'm _fine,_ Mrs. Coulter. I'm not a baby."

"You're still—" Mrs. Coulter started, but then she closed her mouth and simply glared down at Lyra, words left unsaid as she yanked the two away from the crowd and headed back toward their hotel. She kept them on either side of her, her grip on their shoulders protective but oddly possessive as they made their way through town and through the crowds of people heading over to the circus. Lyra _hated_ it, but knew she couldn't do anything about it. 

"Would you like us to walk you back to the College, dear?" 

They were in front of the hotel, and Mrs. Coulter's voice was light and sweet as if nothing had happened. Lyra was well used to these mood swings by now (she called them Mrs. Coulter's "episodes"), but she could tell Roger was feeling a little spooked. 

_I can't blame him,_ Pan offered, gazing over at Sarcilia. _Mrs. Coulter can be very…strange._

"Naw, I'll be alright," Roger said to her immediately, puffing his chest out a bit. "I know Oxford so well I could get back blindfolded."

"Oh, please don't!" Mrs. Coulter gasped, and the children laughed together at Mrs. Coulter's wonder and concern and their full confidence in Roger's ability to make his way back. Lyra then reached down to give Roger a long, tight hug. 

"It was good to see you, Roger," she whispered to him, feeling Pan nuzzle his small wolf nose against Sarcilia's golden retriever nose. 

"Don't stay gone for so long next time, Lyra." Roger squeezed her back, surprisingly hard for someone of his small frame. "It was way too long."

Lyra agreed as she let go and then waved. Roger waved back before shoving his hands into his pockets, Sarcilia trotting along at his side. He strolled off back the way they'd just come, his small figure absorbed into the growing crowd. She and Mrs. Coulter waited until Roger was out of sight completely before entering the hotel, nodding to the doorman and heading toward the elevator. The tension was thick between them, and Lyra wasn't surprised at the further rebuke she received from Mrs. Coulter as soon as they were on their floor. 

"You really did give me quite a fright," Mrs. Coulter said as she opened the door to their room and ushered Lyra inside. Her tone was light but her face was hard. A common combination for her, really. 

Lyra chose to say nothing as she entered the room and kicked her shoes off under the desk, Pan on her shoulder as an ermine. He thoroughly ignored the golden monkey, who was beginning to bristle. 

"Can you imagine my shock and concern when I came back to the ice cream stall and you weren't there?" 

"Where were you anyway?" Lyra put her bag down on the chair and glanced over at Mrs. Coulter. The woman stiffened at the question, as she often did when Lyra pried into _her_ personal life the way she pried into Lyra's. But she didn't really care.

"The point, Lyra," Mrs. Coulter continued, voice tense as she took off her earrings and untucked her shirt, "is that you had me quite worried that something bad happened to you."

"Something bad," Lyra muttered, feeling her eyes roll on their own accord. 

"Something bad." Mrs. Couler was glaring at her now, face pale and fists clenched at her side. "Bad things happen to children who wander off by themselves, Lyra. In London, here, and everywhere. And I… I don't know what I'd do if anything bad ever happened to you."

She tossed Lyra a look then that revealed some of the pain she must have been feeling. It was hurt and raw and clear in a way Mrs. Coulter usually _never_ expressed. Lyra was quiet as she went over to the dresser to grab her pajamas, hearing Mrs. Coulter head into the bathroom to wash her face and change into her nightgown. She started to feel guilty a bit, as she sat on the bed and waited for Mrs. Coulter to finish. 

"Maybe we shouldn't have done it," Lyra whispered to Pan, who was curled up on one of the pillows as a cat. "Maybe it was…too reckless."

"Sometimes you do whatever you want anyway," he yawned back to her, turning away and tucking his tail over his nose.

His indifference bothered Lyra in a way she didn't fully understand. It was like he expected her to be this impulsive, even if he personally thought it might be wrong. He expected it yet didn't try to stop her and went along with it anyway. _Was_ she too unruly in that way? And why didn't he just say so? What did that mean? 

"Your turn now." Mrs. Coulter came out of the bathroom, her hair brushed out into soft, loose locks and her face bright and shiny from its wash. She sat down on the other side of the bed, where she took some lotion and began applying it to her arms. She looked just as beautiful as when she'd made herself up in the morning. Even though she was upset with Lyra, she still somehow looked so gentle and so serene.

"Oh, Mrs. Coulter!" Lyra flew into the woman's arms then, resting her head in the crook of her shoulder in an attempt to simply melt into her. She breathed in Mrs. Coulter's sweet lavender scent and felt the woman hesitate a moment before she wrapped her arms around the girl tightly, holding her close.

"I was so scared," Mrs. Coulter whispered, her grip tightening. Lyra was aware of the golden monkey reaching to stroke Pan's cat spine. He was still acting indifferent about the whole ordeal, but his back arched up and he let out a purr. "I thought something happened to you."

Mrs. Coulter continued to hold Lyra for a few minutes, stroking her back and rocking her back and forth gently. Lyra allowed herself to be soothed and comforted, just as content and relaxed as her daemon. "I'm sorry for scaring you." 

"I know you are, dear." Mrs. Coulter moved to kiss Lyra's forehead then, moving to gaze into her eyes. Lyra felt lost in the intensity of them. That _look_ seemed to always haunt Mrs. Coulter's eyes. Here, in London—everywhere they went. "Just promise me you won't do it again?" 

"I promise."

"Good." Mrs. Coulter smiled, shifting her hand to trail down Lyra's hair and then rest on her cheek. "I'm so glad to hear it. Now, go change into your pajamas and get washed up for bed."

Lyra was glad for the tension to finally be lifted between them. It'd been a painful half hour or so, and her steps truly felt lighter as she went into the bathroom and pulled her silk night shirt on over her head, stepping into her too-big bottoms. It was a bit strange, since Pan was still on the bed with Mrs. Coulter and the golden monkey. He wasn't far and it didn't _hurt,_ really, but she felt removed from him still. Her connection to him felt fuzzy. And she didn't like it. 

_We're okay,_ he thought to her as she came out again. Being closer to him felt better. She hurried to the bed and put her head down on the pillow next to Pan's curled-up form, putting her breathing in sync with his. Mrs. Coulter was reading a book beside her, the sound of the page flipping every minute or so soothing as Lyra continued to drift further and further into the sleep. At one point, she almost thought she heard Mrs. Coulter humming a soft, sing-song tune, which made her eyes droop even further. 

As she fell off into a comfortable sleep, however, something moved through her consciousness to be somehow centered as much as it was peripheral: _the alethiometer._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love, love, LOVE talking about the alethiometer. I was going to include more here but the chapter already felt a bit long-winded, so stay tuned for more in the next chapter. I've really been enjoying this, and I can't wait to keep going. I'd love to hear what you think!


	10. Deciphering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lyra tries to read the alethiometer, and it keeps trying to tell her something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 10 already! This story is just flying by. As I mentioned last chapter, I originally wanted to roll these couple scenes into chapter 9, but it was already getting too long. I've been mapping out later chapters as well, and all I can say is I'm getting very excited because things are about to go down :D
> 
> Thanks so much for reading! I'd love to hear what you think.

**CHAPTER 10**

**Deciphering**

Lyra couldn't sleep. She and Mrs. Coulter were still in their Oxford hotel room, meant to get some shut eye before catching an early train back to London. Lyra was lying on her side of the bed doing _everything_ she could think of to fall asleep. She counted sheep, measured her breaths, told every single part of her body to relax. She'd also taken to kicking her legs to release some of her boundless energy, before Mrs. Coulter rolled over and asked her to please kindly stop as it was shaking the entire bed. The more she tried to sleep, though, the more she felt this strange sensation to get up and try to read the alethiometer. 

The Master had told her she could do it, and explained even vaguely how it worked and what it was like. That was more information than they'd had before. Previously, she'd tried yelling at it, asking it questions and hoping for it to speak back to her. She'd shaken it a few times, too, wondering if that would trigger something. But it never did, because she hadn't been trying the right things. And now she was wondering if she had to do more with the hands and the needles in order to make it work. 

_We could go to the bathroom,_ Pan suggested. He was up, too, a mouse now as he nestled himself in Lyra's hair. _Go in there before she even notices and spend a few minutes with it._

That would work, although Lyra was worried Mrs. Coulter would wake and notice her. She was an extraordinarily light sleeper, Lyra had learned. The monkey more so than her. Lyra had slept in her bed with her a few times when she was scared or sad, and she always felt the golden monkey watching her. His black beady eyes would constantly be on her, watching her every twitch, flip, and breath. He seemed to be resting now, though, from his spot on the other side of Mrs. Coulter. Both of them were quiet and their breathing deep and slow. Lyra was on the side closest to the bathroom, so if she could just lightly get up and then creep over there, grabbing the alethiometer on the way… 

Lyra carefully moved her legs over the side of the bed, pausing to listen to Mrs. Coulter. She was still sleeping, and the monkey hadn't moved. Encouraged by this, Lyra lifted her upper body and then slowly got entirely out of the bed, placing her feet lightly on the carpet. All was still well, so she tip-toed forward and swiped the alethiometer from her bag on the table before heading toward the bathroom. 

Then, right as she thought she was in the clear, she tripped over one of her shoes and hit her foot on the wooden desk. Pain flared as she bit down on her tongue and begged Pan to stay quiet. 

"Lyra?" Mrs. Coulter called out, her voice sleepy. Lyra stopped, still clutching the package in front of her. "Are you alright?" 

"I'm just going to the bathroom," Lyra answered, already hating herself for stubbing her stupid toe. It'd been _perfect_ up until this point. Now she had to make an excuse to give herself enough time to stay in the bathroom. "I don't feel so good."

"What's the matter?" Lyra heard the creak of the bed as Mrs. Coulter sat up. Again Lyra cursed at herself, clutching the bag tighter. Pan squeaked from his spot still atop her head.

"It's fine! My stomach just hurts so I'm going to go sit in there for a while."

"Are you sure you don't need me to—" 

_"Yes,"_ Lyra let out more exasperatedly as she wanted to, crossing the room and closing the door behind her. She clicked the lock and turned on the ceiling fan, which thankfully was loud and could give her some privacy. 

"That was close," Pan let out, jumping off her head and changing into a golden night owl. " _Too_ close, Lyra."

"I know," she sighed, keeping her voice as small and light as possible while turning her attention to the alethiometer. Excitement flashed through her as she took the instrument out of its casing, the shiny gold only just catching in the low naphtha lighting coming from the vanity. She felt focused and concentrated as she opened it up and looked down at the symbols. Thirty-six in total—all different, all meaning _something._

She had to ask it a question, she'd gleaned. It couldn't tell the truth if it wasn't asked something, after all. And like with any other kind of instrument, Lyra had to guide it. It was up to her to arrange it in a way so that it actually meant something and could give her what she wanted. She had to think carefully, and not take anything for granted. 

As she sat there and started to wonder what question she'd first like to ask if even she _could_ figure out how, the machine started whirling. The hands started moving as it began to tick, light and faint. The large hands moved quickly and furiously while the red hand fluttered and spattered. Lyra and her daemon both gasped. 

"What did you do?" he asked her, his voice a high-pitched hoot. 

"Nothing!" she exclaimed, watching everything move with a profound sense of curiosity. At least, she didn't _think_ she did anything to make it move like that. It was after a few minutes that the large hands started to settle on the same symbols over and over again. 

In this way, it felt like the alethiometer was trying to tell Lyra something. It sounded stupid, to say it that way, but the device almost felt _alive._ Conscious. Anxious to tell her something perhaps she didn't actually ask but that it wanted to answer for her. She gazed down at the symbols, barely able to make them out in the dim bathroom lighting. The large handle kept pointing to three of them in a consistent pattern: the Madonna, the baby, and the candle. 

"What does that mean, Pan?" Lyra asked him. The machine quite purposely kept highlighting those three symbols over and over again, like a rhythm in music. 

"I dunno." He fluttered over to her to take a closer look. "Let's think about it. What could those symbols represent?" 

Lyra continued to stare down at them, hoping the answers would somehow magically come to her if only she focused. She tried closing her eyes, too, and felt an eerie sense of calm take over her as she turned her mind to it. The Madonna, Lyra thought, must mean _woman_ of some kind. That was very obvious. And the baby must represent a child, or, rather, innocence. Or maybe helplessness. Or all of it at once yet separately. 

"So some woman with a child is helpless?" Pan wondered aloud. 

"No, that can't be it," Lyra argued, "because what about the candle?" Somehow, it made sense to Lyra that all the symbols contributed to the meaning. There was a reason why it kept pointing to three of them. And maybe it didn't need to be only three of them, although that's what was being shown to her now. Candles were bright. Revealing. They showed the way, and kept things well-lit and visible when they'd otherwise be dark. That had something to do with it, Lyra was sure of it. 

"A woman…revealing a child?" Pan tried. Lyra simply shook her head. "A child...being revealed to the woman? Or, the woman revealed to the child?" 

It was too complicated. What he said made sense yet didn't; they were there yet not quite. The order must mean _something_ , but maybe not? There were probably different meanings, too. What about all the times the hand spun around before settling on a symbol? It all seemed so purposeful, so meaningful. Lyra felt like she was _missing_ something, although she couldn't tell _what_. 

"Lyra, are you alright?" 

Lyra gasped then, instinctively shoving the alethiometer under her bottom to hide it, as if Mrs. Coulter could see her when really Lyra knew she couldn't. It was funny, how Lyra's first response was fear and trickery when it came to this, which should probably concern her more than it did. 

"Yes, I think I'm almost done now."

"When you come out I'll have some warm chamomile for you. It'll help you feel better."

"Okay."

_She was so nice!_ Lyra couldn't help but exclaim to Pan. She quickly tucked the alethiometer back into its case and then shoved it into her pajamas bottoms. They were so baggy Mrs. Coulter would never notice. She could then put it away later after she'd slept. _The Master told us not to tell her about this, but why? She's been nothing but kind to us. And she's so smart. Maybe she could help us._

_The Master has his reasons,_ her daemon tried to assure her as she flushed the toilet and then ran the sink water for a bit, pretending to wash her hands. _We have to trust him, Lyra._

_But we're supposed to trust everyone,_ she countered, letting out a great sigh. _Every grown up we know tells us to trust them and listen to them. They can't all be right, can they?_

_We should ask the alethiometer,_ Pan could only offer, frustrated yet wistful at the answers they couldn't find. 

Lyra opened the door then to a very anxious Mrs. Coulter. 

"Do you feel better?" the woman asked, gesturing for Lyra to lie back down on the bed before handing her a steaming mug. 

"I think so," Lyra murmured, deciding to allow her feigned sickness to excuse her lingering moodiness over the alethiometer. She sipped the tea grudgingly, for she knew Mrs. Coulter would stare her down until she'd tried it. But all she wanted to do was go back to the alethiometer and keep playing with the symbols, and see if it had anything _else_ to tell her and if she could somehow figure out what it meant if only she focused more intently on it. 

"Good," Mrs. Coulter said, running a hand through Lyra's hair and rousing Lyra from her thoughts. The woman smiled at her softly before getting up and going back to the other side of the bed. "Finish up your tea and try to go to sleep now. We've got an early train and I daresay only a few more hours to rest up."

Exactly four hours later Lyra awoke to Mrs. Coulter rustling through the hotel room, quietly opening drawers and moving clothes and putting away items stowed away on the tables. 

_The alethiometer!_ Lyra checked at her waist and found the device still there, protected by its case as it sat right over her bellybutton. 

_Of course it's there,_ she added then, mostly for Pan who still treated Mrs. Coulter with the slightest amount of suspicion. _Why would she take it? How would she even know it was there?_

_She might not, but_ **_he_ ** _could,_ Pan grumbled, his eyes locking with the golden monkey's. 

"You're awake," Mrs. Coulter chimed from the other end of the room. It was hard to see since the lights were still off, but it looked to Lyra like she was dressed already, wearing some kind of flowy dress. "Are you feeling better this morning?" 

"Yes," Lyra yawned, stretching her arms and legs out. "Much better, I think."

"I'm so glad to hear that. Now, get up and going now, Lyra. We're going to sit for a quick breakfast a few doors down and then take a car to the train station."

Lyra jumped out of bed and grabbed not only her clothes but her little shoulder bag as she dipped into the bathroom to change for the day, slipping the golden machine inside the bag again. She felt better once it was there, safely hidden in plain sight and close to her at all times. As she'd anticipated, Mrs. Coulter didn't seem to think too much of it, saying it was nice for Lyra to travel around with a bag that she liked. Pan didn't think this arrangement would work out once they were back at the flat, though. Mrs. Coulter never wore a bag when they were at home, so it would look weird for Lyra to do so. She wasn't going to think about it now, though.

The sun rose quite early in their part of the world. It was just after 5am by the time they were walking over to the restaurant, their bags held at the hotel lobby while they walked around with their purses. They ate a light meal of fruit, oatmeal, and coffee, as Mrs. Coulter said she'd arranged for a large lunch of Lyra's favorites back at the flat. Coffee was something _new_ to Lyra, and something Mrs. Coulter had to help her with. 

"You'll want to put in lots of cream and sugar at first, to help combat the bitter taste," Mrs. Coulter explained, scooping in some sugar and pouring a splash of milk before stirring it together. "After a while you'll probably be able to ease up on some of it."

"You never did, though," Lyra commented as she took a sip. It was good. Very sweet, to the point where she wondered how much of the coffee she was even tasting. "You said your mother gave you too much chocolatl and now you like things sweet."

"That's right," Mrs. Coulter mused, her eyes twinkling at her.

"Maybe I'll be like that too, then," Lyra told her, taking another sip of her coffee. "Because you give me a lot of chocolatl, too."

Mrs. Coulter was quiet at that, something nestled deep into her eyes and in her face that Lyra couldn't quite make out. She was well used to it by now, however—these strange and complex looks that existed beyond Lyra's comprehension. So she simply continued to drink her coffee and look calmly back in Mrs. Coulter's general direction until the woman shook herself out of it and helped them finish up their quick meal. 

Very soon after picking up their bags they were back on a train, watching the sun slowly start to rise for the day. Lyra realized it hadn't even been a full 24 hours since they first left. 

"Did you enjoy your time in Oxford, dear?" Mrs. Coulter asked her as she opened up a newspaper. She always started with the obituaries, Lyra noticed. Pan found that very, very strange. 

"Yes," said Lyra, allowing her thoughts to wander back to Roger. At this hour he was probably helping set up the halls for breakfast, both where the servants ate and the Great Hall where the Scholars ate. He was probably tired, because they were out so late last night. She wondered if he got back okay, and if the other servants were upset with him being out for that long. And she felt herself start to _miss_ him again in the way that only happens once you realize you don't know when you'll see someone again. 

"What are you going to do for the train ride now, Lyra?" 

She _wanted_ to take more time to mess with the alethiometer. She'd really gotten somewhere last night, and could have gotten way further if she had more time. There was something to work out regarding how to determine which meanings were the true meetings. The meanings themselves came easily enough to her (oddly enough), but the challenge was figuring out which _ones_ were relevant and meaningful. If she could only just have more time, and really sit with it and get back into that weird trance…

"I dunno," she sighed, leaning back and closing her eyes. She realized she was still quite tired. She'd been getting a lot of sleep since moving in with Mrs. Coulter and hadn't realized how her body had adjusted to it. 

"Maybe you can take a nap." Mrs. Coulter seemed to be reading her thoughts then, and Lyra nodded and then dozed off, Pan curling up by her side with his ermine tail conveniently laced over her little shoulder bag. 

When they got back to the flat, Lyra felt it: the washing sensation of _coming home._ She'd felt that way before at Jordan, when she'd enter the college after having played around all day. It'd felt light and cozy, like taking a sip of hot tea while curled in a blanket next to a fire. It felt safe and secure. Lyra didn't feel that when arriving at Jordan yesterday, however, but felt that way now as they entered the London apartment. Mrs. Coulter put her bag on the glass end table as she moved to lock the elevator. She then shrugged out of her cartigan and hung it around her arm. Lyra slipped out of her shoes, too, and threw them under the table.

"Lyra," Mrs. Coulter chided then, and Lyra sighed before picking them up and taking them over to her room along with her little blue suitcase. 

_What about the alethiometer?_

Lyra shared Pan's curiosity but looked hesitantly toward the door. It was open, like it always was during the day. Mrs. Coulter and her daemon would be able to hear whatever they were doing. They'd be able to pop in. 

_Maybe just a quick peek,_ she decided, plopping down on the bed with the little white shoulder bag. She gingerly took the alethiometer out and removed it from its black velvet case. She opened it, and gasped again as the alethiometer started stirring again. 

"What's it pointing to?" Pan whispered, coming over to peer down at it as a little rabbit. 

"The same symbols," Lyra said after another moment, finding her brow furrowing at the revelation: the Madonna, the baby, and the candle. 

"But what does it _mean?"_ her daemon practically whined. 

"I don't know, Pan," Lyra answered, but just as she was about to try moving around one of the hands, they heard a noise coming from down the hall. 

_They're coming in here! Quick!_

Lyra shoved the instrument under the pillow and kicked the bag off the bed before flopping back down the middle of the bed, Pan hurrying to her neck as an ermine. Mrs. Coulter and her daemon were in the room not two seconds later. 

"Oh, aren't you a sleepy little thing?" Mrs. Coulter's voice was soft and warm as she came over to Lyra then, sitting down at the foot of the bed beside her. Lyra opened her eyes and looked over at her. Her tone was nice, but her face looked different. It looked anxious and expectant, as if she were waiting to say something. 

"Is everything okay, Mrs. Coulter?" 

"Yes," she said, moving to put her hand on Lyra's sprawled-out arm. "I just have something very important to talk to you about, Lyra."

"Are you mad at me?" Lyra sat up, dislodging Mrs. Coulter's arm in the process. She felt her heartbeat quicken, wondering what this important business was while _also_ worrying about the alethiometer sitting not even a foot away from them. What if Mrs. Coulter reached over to go fluff her pillow? She'd find it. Lyra was so careless! 

"Oh, goodness no," the woman said, moving to brush Lyra's hair out of her face. "Why would I be angry with you, Lyra?" 

She had to think a moment. "Because I was sick last night and interrupted your sleep. I'm sorry again."

"You never have to be sorry for that, Lyra," Mrs. Coulter insisted. "I'm here to take care of you. It's nothing to be sorry about at all."

"Alright, Mrs. Coulter. What is it you wanted to talk about?" 

Lyra waited, still anxious. Pan slid from her shoulders over to her feet, where he sat as a tabby polecat. His eyes were glued on the monkey, who somehow looked smaller and less imposing than he ever had. 

"It's about your uncle." Lyra felt her words like a stab directly to the heart. "I discovered some things while I was in Oxford that I think we should talk about."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you think these symbols are trying to tell Lyra? 🤔🕒


	11. Cornered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mrs. Coulter is faced with a grave challenge.

**CHAPTER 11**

**Cornered**

Mrs. Coulter left her flat very early. It was the morning after they arrived back in London from their day trip to Oxford. The sun hadn’t yet risen as she fluffed her hair, wrapped herself in a teal trench coat, slipped on a pair of heels, and then headed for the lift—her daemon and a brown handbag in tow.

_ What if Lyra wakes when we're away?  _ the golden monkey thought to her, trotting along by her ankles as they crept forward as lightly as they could. 

_ She probably won’t,  _ Mrs. Coulter returned.  _ And if she does, she’ll be too sleepy to make sense of anything. We wore her out quite a bit yesterday. _

Mrs. Coulter felt something burn and irritate her as they made their way down the lift to the ground floor. It was uncomfortable and frustrating in the way a prickly throat was. She realized that for quite possibly the first time in her thirty-five years of life, she felt something that actually resembled _guilt_ threaten to consume and overwhelm her. Yesterday she crossed the line and went through with her ever-forming scheme: she told Lyra her uncle died because of something that happened in the North. She also subtly suggested the answers to what happened to him might very well lie there still. And she stopped just short of saying no when Lyra asked if they could please go there right away. 

“We  _ have  _ to go  _ now _ ,” Lyra had cried, clinging to Mrs. Coulter’s arm as they sat together on her fluffy bed. "I'm so upset!" 

Pan rolled over as a tabby cat and was gazing up at them with pitiful round eyes. He was resting on Lyra’s lap, his fur spilling to softly glaze Mrs. Coulter’s fingers. He’d been doing this more and more during their time living together. It was awfully bold of him, perhaps, but Mrs. Coulter basked in the cold yet warm sensation that trickled through her body every time it happened. Her daemon  _ hated  _ it and flinched away as if personally struck, but Mrs. Coulter didn’t mind. She craved it, even, as it meant that Lyra felt close to her in a way that transcended the great taboo between humans and other people’s daemons. It meant they had an actual, tangible, meaningful relationship. 

“I know you are, darling,” Mrs. Coulter offered, running a hand through the girl's hair. She also spared a brief brush across the edge of Pan’s belly fur. 

“Maybe someone will know something there?”

“They might.”

“Oh, we must go at once! We have to find out, Mrs. Coulter! Won't you take me North? Please? We've got to.”

After another twenty minutes or so of boundless questions and fits of crying and begging, Lyra had exhausted herself and asked to take a nap. She  _ never  _ asked for a nap, which would normally cause much more suspicion but, alas, the circumstances were so dire. So Mrs. Coulter tucked her in and closed the shades, giving her a soft kiss on the forehead and promising her everything would work out and she'd figure something out soon. She then spent the rest of the day planning for their immediate departure to Trollesund in two days' time, which pacified the Magisterium and their own proposed timeline of events. 

_ For all we know, the North  _ **_could_ ** _ have answers about Asriel,  _ Mrs. Coulter thought to herself as she went from Lyra's room back to her own. 

_ You just want to see what he was planning with his laboratory,  _ the monkey growled back, and she sighed because he was right and there was no use trying to deny it. 

At the current moment, Mrs. Coulter was off to greet a small batch of children who were picked up around London and also from Oxford the evening before. It was their second real batch since experiments began and they were heading off to the North very late in the evening. She was to spin their wonderful tale of heading off on a grand adventure together, offering to write detailed letters and well wishes to worried mothers and fathers (who had apparently been so worried they didn't even notice their children wandering off in the first place). She would then have the rest of the day to prepare Lyra for their travels. 

Thinking of both Lyra and these children in the same breath unsettled her in a way she didn't realize it would. It shook her, so she decided to put Lyra out of her mind for now. She needed to focus solely on the children she needed to charm and calm.

The streets were quiet and still as she walked a couple blocks and returned to the warehouse she'd been at a few weeks before. It was rustic and completely unrecognizable as she slid the doors open and then shut them tight, locking them behind her. Small torches of candlelight brightened her way as she moved through the dark and noiseless halls. 

"Mrs. Coulter," said an even, blank voice. Sister Clara approached her from a bench just outside a door. By the looks of her it seemed like she'd been waiting for hours in the exact same spot. Mrs. Coulter faintly wondered if the woman's neck was stiff and if she'd felt any of it. 

_ Such boring and pitiful things they become,  _ the golden monkey mused, sniffing dismissively at the woman. Sister Clara was one of the first experiments of Mrs. Coulter's intercision process that she adapted from what she'd seen from the zombi in Afrika. She was still a young woman at twenty years old. She'd undergone puberty and had her share of sins, of course, but as a woman of the Church fervent to take her vows, she was a perfect early experiment for creating obedient, lawful staff. She volunteered for the cause and, most important of all,  _ lived  _ to tell the tale and work and exist separated from her daemon. She had shown great progress, however flawed it still was. And Mrs. Coulter respected that. 

"Sister Clara," she greeted, allowing warmth to fleck her voice. "It's so lovely to see you again."

"The children are sleeping," Sister Clara continued.  _ I suppose she doesn't understand small talk,  _ the monkey observed. "All of them have arrived and are ready to be transported. Dr. Smythe and the others are ready for you in the next room as well."

"Wonderful," Mrs. Coulter responded, making a mental note to pull Sister Clara and a couple of the others aside at some point to conduct some research interviews. She hadn't had the time lately to follow up with them, and she knew that she really needed to in order to properly compare and understand what was happening with the children. "Shall you go and wake the children for me?" 

She gave the woman a few minutes to wake and rouse the children before she decided to peek inside. And as she did so, Mrs. Coulter's face immediately fell as she entered the room and recognized a certain dark-haired, freckled boy sitting up quietly and calmly on his bunk bed, his daemon set lazily by his side as a golden retriever as they awoke from their sleep. 

_ The boy!  _ the golden monkey hissed in her ear, claws coming out as he sat on her shoulder. She quickly ducked out of the room and out of sight.  _ What is he doing here?  _

Well, this was most unexpected. Mrs. Coulter simply stopped as she leaned against the cold wall on the other side of the room, measuring her breaths and collecting her thoughts. Her daemon jumped down to pace at her feet, his tail swirling furiously through the air. 

She was faced with a multitude of interconnected challenges at this moment. First and foremost: Lyra's best friend Roger was kidnapped by her own organization. It was comical, really, since they'd  _ just  _ been in Oxford and at Jordan. Lyra and Roger had run into each other's arms and danced around the front courtyard, talking a mile a minute as they each tried to catch the other up on all that happened to them. Then they'd run around the College and jumped around the buildings, no doubt up to no good as Mrs. Coulter learned by stationing some of her staff to keep an eye out. And Mrs. Coulter had taken them out for ice cream, and had left poor Roger to find his own way back to Jordan through a large swath of people out and about during the circus very late at night. 

It was her fault, then, for having instructed her staff to take some children while they were there and for having left Roger to make his way back alone in the way that she had. A few here and a few there, the philosophy had been, to great success so far due to their flawless record. But she hadn't known _Roger_ would be one of the scrappy children they took with them in that rickety old van in Oxford. The thought hadn't even crossed her mind in the slightest, when perhaps it should have. But she'd been worried about Lyra above all else, after she'd come back from meeting an informant to find the girl gone from the place she had left her. She knew very well that kidnapping was a threat and had been beside herself at the thought of it being Lyra. But not for Roger, she supposed. 

And now, she had certain decisions to make as a result. One, let Roger stay. Let them send him North. Let him most likely die, as they still hadn't perfected the process. Tell Lyra he must have run off, or let her believe in the Gobblers and never find out it was she who was behind it all the entire time. 

_ That's a reckless plan,  _ her daemon snorted.  _ She'll find out. She won't let this go, and she'll find it strange if you don't help her find him. You've done everything else for her, after all.  _

But they were headed to the North soon, Mrs. Coulter also realized. Lyra was currently in distress over her uncle and the news Mrs. Coulter let slip about some men in the North being very upset at what he was planning. By this time tomorrow they'd be headed off to Trollesund anyway, with all the children in tow through other means. Mrs. Coulter could make it so Lyra never caught wind of them, though exactly how she wasn't sure. 

_ That's no plan at all, then,  _ her daemon reprimanded.  _ And if she sees him there and hears the whispers, she's as good as gone. She won't forgive us, and I don't think you're willing to risk that, are you?  _

Mrs. Coulter sighed again, for he was right. She couldn't just pretend the problem wasn't there and risk some disastrous consequences. She was too personally involved with Roger as well, which was again her fault. He knew her name and who she was and that could be dangerous. Ignoring people and problems was generally one of her best coping strategies, but it wouldn't work here in this particular situation. She couldn't will this away, as much as she wanted to. 

She also wouldn't be able to lie to Lyra about this if she took the road of option one. Mrs. Coulter could lie to Lyra about a lot of things—her work with the Magisterium, what happened to Asriel, the fact she was Lyra's mother and the girl wasn't an orphan after all. But she couldn't lie about sending her best friend off to his death. She couldn't look her in the eye and say she didn't know when she  _ did  _ and she had everything in her power to make Lyra feel better. It was different now, the more Mrs. Coulter spent with Lyra. Everything was changing in ways she couldn't even fully comprehend. Things like this were no longer nonconsequential.

That only left option two: have him be released and hope he didn't hear enough to pose a threat. 

_ Or, option three: take him in ourselves,  _ the monkey suddenly thought to her.  _ Keep an eye on him and make sure he doesn't say anything he shouldn't. We can do that if he's with us.  _

_ An orphan ward?  _ Mrs. Coulter thought to him, unable to hide the strong edge of disgust in her thoughts. She didn't like the idea. She felt herself physically shudder at the suggestion, as she didn't want to  _ share _ Lyra in that way, to have someone else in the house for Lyra to pay attention to and want to be with and occupy her time. It was maybe overly possessive in a way, and not very  _ religious _ of her, but Mrs. Coulter didn't care. She brushed her daemon off and decided she would worry about what to do with the boy later. It wasn't a bad idea though, to first find him and see what he had to say before returning him back to Jordan. 

"Dr. Smythe," she called a couple minutes later, moving to the staff's lounge which was safely far enough away from the children. "Can you come here for a moment?" 

"What is it, Mrs. Coulter?" he asked, meerkat daemon wary as they shuffled over to her. "We-we've got all the preparations made. Transport will begin later today, slowly by car. And then boat. And we have all the drops settled, too."

"Very good," Mrs. Coulter interrupted, "but I must admit that I'm in a bit of a difficult bind at the moment."

"Oh?" he said, ears pricked now as much as his daemon's. 

"Yes. I'm afraid one of the children knows me very well and mustn't be allowed to proceed, given the dangers that poses. We need to figure out what to do about it… Do you think you could help me?"

What they'd decided was perhaps optimistic at best and reckless at worst. One of the male scientists donned the black masks from the kidnappers and took Roger aside, putting a sack over his head and trapping his daemon in their special nets. For her part, Mrs. Coulter skipped her introduction to the children entirely, not wanting to risk anything. They were to dump Roger in an alley that led out to a busy pathway of people where Mrs. Coulter would conveniently find him, her arms full of shopping bags after having just been out and about. The monkey didn't like it because of all that could go wrong, but Mrs. Coulter realized it was the only option they had to pacify all parties. 

"Are you s-sure about this?" Dr. Smythe asked as he accompanied her out to the public area. They were still hidden from sight but she'd needed some help getting bags and things in place. 

"No," she admitted, and as his eyes widened she laughed and patted his stubbled face affectionately. "But it'll all work out, Dr. Smythe. I promise. You'd best get back to the warehouse now and prepare for the journey ahead."

It all happened according to plan. After ten minutes or so of waiting, the monkey signaled for her to come forward. Mrs. Coulter walked by where Roger was thrown, watching the boy sprawled out on the pavement with his daemon whimpering at his side.

“Are you alright, dear?” Mrs. Coulter called out sweetly as she headed over. She kept her tone light and casual, as though he were any regular child in any casual circumstance.

“I need help,” Roger moaned, working to get himself up. His voice was small and frightened. Mrs. Coulter came closer, shifting her bags so that she had one free arm to touch his back as he turned up to look at her.

He suddenly stopped, his eyes widening and his mouth falling open. His daemon changed from her golden retriever form to a raccoon, shying away from the two humans and the golden monkey. 

“Roger?” Mrs. Coulter said slowly, allowing a healthy and obvious sense of shock to rush over her face. “That can’t be you, can it?”

“Mrs. Coulter?” he asked in return, looking from her to the monkey to the bags and then to the activity all around them. He was utterly still, as if stuck in a trance. 

“Oh, you poor thing,” Mrs. Coulter cooed then, setting her bags down and lifting him up with both her arms. She ran a hand through his hair and then cupped his face, looking him over for injuries. He just continued to stare, his breathing quick but steadily slowing as she helped him stand up and then dusted off his dirty clothes.

“W-where am I, Mrs. Coulter?”

“Why, you’re in London, darling. Don’t you know that? Aren’t you here to visit Lyra?”

“Lyra!” His eyes widened as if only just remembering his friend as he quickly looked around. “Where is she? I-is she here with you?”

“No, she's back at the apartment,” Mrs. Coulter answered easily, moving to raise her eyebrows. "What's going on, Roger?" 

“Oh, Mrs. Coulter, something terrible happened," he said, leaning closer to her. He was shaking as he reached out to his daemon. After a moment of hesitation, she changed into a sparrow and flew over to him, tucking her little head under his right ear. And as she moved to put her arms around his shoulders, which shook just like the rest of his body, both Mrs. Coulter and the golden monkey started to feel better about their plan. 

"What do you mean, dear? What's happened?" 

"I dunno even what to say," he practically cried. His voice broke with a great sob. "I never made it back to Jordan."

"When?" Mrs. Coulter couldn't help but grow excited here. He wasn't afraid of her and he trusted her still, which was positive news. She made sure to caution the golden monkey, though, and render them both concerned and ignorant. "Roger, what are you trying to tell me?" 

"I was kidnapped!" he finally let out, more sobs coming through. "They took me in this big white van. And there were these other kids, too. They say it was these people called the Gobblers." 

"It's alright, darling," she said then, pulling him to her breast as he started to cry in earnest now. He was, after all, just a scared little boy. This was quite traumatizing, really. "You're safe now. Thank goodness I've found you. We can head back to my apartment now. Can you tell me more about what happened? From when you were back in Oxford?" 

His story was vague and lacked detail, which was good: he’d been on his way back to Jordan when a pair of men grabbed him and put him in a van with a couple others that brought him here. He’d been in London for a couple days trapped in a warehouse with a group of other children. She listened carefully for what he had to say about the children: did they say who captured them? What did they remember? What did they hear? She couldn't remember if there was anything that could connect her to them, since she'd been so busy with Lyra and hadn't been out to collect them herself. 

_ And good thing, too,  _ her daemon thought to her, and Mrs. Coulter could only blink grimly at him. 

“It was all these men,” he said to her, face scrunched up as if trying to remember. “We was all taken by these men, a few of us in Oxford but most of the kids from London. They had these whistles that our daemons followed. Who are they, Mrs. Coulter? Why are they doing this to us?”

“I don’t know, sweetheart,” Mrs. Coulter told him, running her hand along his back again as they approached her building. He didn't know anything. None of them did. They'd be okay. This wasn't a complete disaster for her. “But I promise you we're going to find out. Let’s get you cleaned up first, and go see Lyra…”

The girl was distraught, of course, upon seeing Mrs. Coulter enter the flat with a dusty, shaking Roger. He ran into her arms immediately and simply sobbed against her. Lyra's eyes were wide as she hugged him and gazed worriedly over at Mrs. Coulter, who dumped her bags on an end table and simply gazed over at them. It was strange, for Mrs. Coulter to witness this. She felt like she was intruding on something private, on something sacred. And she supposed that she was, really, especially given her role in the whole ordeal. The way Lyra and Roger comforted each other was pure and sweet and something Mrs. Coulter realized she personally had never experienced. 

"Let's get you washed up, Roger," Mrs. Coulter said as she moved over to them. The boy broke apart from Lyra then, his eyes swollen and his lip still quivering. She led him over to the bathroom, where she turned on the tap, got out a fresh towel, and fished out a black pair of pajamas he could wear. "We'll let you get settled now. Take your time, dear, and let me know if you need anything."

"Oh, Mrs. Coulter, what  _ happened!"  _ Lyra followed her over to the washing room, where Mrs. Coulter filled the sink and got out some soap to wash Roger's clothes for him. She explained a basic synopsis to Lyra as she took the boy's clothes and scraped them against the washboard. She normally  _ hated  _ such domestic work and left it for all her staff, but she had just enough nervous energy and desire to settle down Lyra that it didn't bother her as much as it normally would. 

"There's a group of kids kidnapped?" Lyra squeaked, her eyes practically bulging out of their sockets. "Oh, we have to go save them! Mrs. Coulter, this is awful!" 

"Shh, Lyra," Mrs. Coulter soothed, feeling the prickly gloating of the monkey as he thought to her:  _ I told you. She won't stand for this. She can't accept what it is we're doing.  _ "These are things best left to the authorities. And unfortunately, this is not the first I've ever heard of this. Things are a lot more dangerous out here in the big city, Lyra."

After a few more outbursts and declarations of sympathy, Lyra eventually calmed down. "So you see, dear," Mrs. Coulter concluded, moving to put the boy's clothes on the drying rack as she finished, "we'll need to look into the matter. But we also need to get going to the North tomorrow, so I'm afraid he'll have to head back to Jordan first thing in the morning."

"Can't he come with us?" Lyra's voice was small as she looked over at Mrs. Coulter, Pan peeking around her shoulder as a white ermine. "I just feel so awful, and like it's all my fault…"

"Don't," Mrs. Coulter said softly. She felt her heart physically ache as she bent down to run a still-soapy hand across Lyra's cheek. "This isn't your fault. There's nothing you could have done in Oxford."

"I could've not taken him out in the first place."

"Stop." Mrs. Coulter was finding it almost hard to breathe now as the thought raked over her:  **_I_ ** _ shouldn't have sent him back by himself.  _ **_I_ ** _ should have walked him back.  _ **_I_ ** _ should have prevented this.  _ "These thoughts won't change what happened, and it does you no good to beat yourself up over it. Let's be glad we found him and that he's alright, and do all we can to make sure he gets home safely. We'll send George with him back to Oxford via airship. And then we'll be off to Trollesund and can check in later. Everything will be okay, Lyra."

"Do you promise?" Lyra's eyes were searching. Scathingly searching and innocent as they gazed into Mrs. Coulter's. 

"I promise you, Lyra. Everything is going to be fine."

And the girl believed her as she let out a heavy sigh and then fell forward into Mrs. Coulter's arms, allowing the woman to hold her and kiss her forehead and murmur comforting words to her. The golden monkey stood stiffly on the counter by the sink, his eyes hard as he watched them. 

_ This isn't over,  _ he warned her.  _ You've still got an issue. You won't be able to cover this up forever, Marisa.  _

Feeling herself start to bristle at him, Mrs Coulter shook herself and then ignored him, tightening her hold on Lyra. She was what was important in this moment. Mrs. Coulter tried to focus on that and put the rest in the back of her mind to be dealt with another time and another day, as problematic as that may be. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was so intense to write: poor Roger D: I found it interesting to write Mrs. Coulter here, however, and to delve more into how she acts when threatened. I'd be curious to see what y'all think!
> 
> Also, I am so INCREDIBLY JEALOUS of those of y'all who will be able to view ep 1 of season 2 tomorrow on BBC since I have to wait until Nov 16. I hope you enjoy it, and I can't wait to see it myself!


	12. (Un)settled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lyra tries to spend time with Roger before he heads back to Oxford. Additionally, the alethiometer finally starts to make more sense to her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Were you left wondering more about the alethiometer...? Well, here's some more of that :D (one of my favorite things to write, besides the Lyra x Mrs. Coulter scenes!)

**CHAPTER 12**

**(Un)settled**

****

"This way, Roger." As the boy came out of the bathroom, his hair wet and his feet tripping on Mrs. Coulter's too-long pajama bottoms, Lyra took his arm and guided him over to her bedroom. Pan went next to Sarcilia and picked up her small-cat form in his tiger Jaws. "Do you feel better now?" 

"Yeah," he said, and he indeed looked better, too. His face was flush and he wasn't shaking anymore. He seemed stronger, more like himself. "Gee, that's  _ such _ a nice bathtub."

"Isn't it?" Lyra offered, hearing the giggle in her voice. "The first time I took a bath here I told Mrs. Coulter I very well could've drowned because of how  _ big  _ it is."

Roger laughed, and for a moment, it almost felt like things were normal—like nothing bad at all had happened to him and he was just over for a visit. How wonderful that would be, for them to be able to run around London and pick on all the stuffy rich kids and eat all the fancy candies Mrs. Coulter had lying around the apartment. They’d have the run of the city, really, and be able to see new sights and conquer new quests that they’d never been able to do in Oxford. It would be a dream. If only they weren't currently living in a nightmare. 

"All done, then?" Mrs. Coulter appeared from around the bend of the hallway at that moment, her soft blues eyes glimmering in the late-morning sunlight that streamed in from the living room. 

"Yes, Mrs. Coulter," Lyra answered. "I was just going to take him to lay down for a bit now. I bet you're tired, ain't you, Roger?" 

"How about a late breakfast, actually?" Mrs. Coulter said. Before Lyra could even blink, the woman moved forward and cut in between Lyra and Roger, putting her arms around the boy's shoulders. "I know you haven't eaten yet, and I'm sure Roger is absolutely famished. We can eat out on the terrace. It's so gorgeous outside!" 

_ Do you have the feeling she doesn't want us to spend time with him?  _ Pan asked her as they followed Mrs. Coulter through the living room and out to the terrace. Mrs. Coulter still had her hands on Roger’s shoulders as she steered him forward. It looked smooth and natural, but in that moment, it felt rather possessive, almost.

_ No,  _ she thought back, stubbornly, but she wasn't so sure. They ate their meal together in pleasurable enough company, with Mrs. Coulter telling stories of the North ahead of their upcoming trip. Roger listened politely, even though he really wasn't that interested in these things in the same ways she was. They’d always had different plans and different dreams. Lyra found she spent more time watching him than listening to her. He seemed okay but just very, very tired. When they finished eating, Lyra was going to suggest she can Roger go back to her room now for him to take that nap, but then Mrs. Coulter told them they were going out instead. 

"We need to pick up some supplies before our trip," Mrs. Coulter explained as they returned to the living room. "We're leaving bright and early in the morning, just after you head back to Oxford, Roger, and I'm afraid I've forgotten a few things."

"Can't Roger and I stay here?" Lyra dared to ask, eying not Mrs. Coulter but the monkey, who at the moment was perched calmly by the window. "He's so tired, and he needs to rest…"

"How about you go lie down now, Roger? You can rest here while Lyra and I go out."

_ Why can't we stay?  _ Pan burned into her thoughts. He couldn't help but fidget on her shoulder in his dark ermine form. The monkey moved a bit, too, but otherwise was calm and unnerved.  _ This feels strange, Lyra, like she's afraid of us being alone with him…  _

"Maybe he can rest and we can wait for him to?" A compromise, Lyra decided to try. It would also provide more time for her to figure out what Mrs. Coulter was up to. 

"Alright," Mrs. Coulter conceded, her voice light. Just as Lyra went to get up from the sofa, though, Mrs. Coulter was already up and taking Roger's hand. "I'll show you to Lyra's room now. And we'll be sure not to bother you while you're sleeping." 

"Can't I see him, Mrs. Coulter?" she asked when the woman returned. 

"No, Lyra. He needs to rest."

"But I'm so  _ worried  _ about him!" 

"Lyra." Mrs. Coulter came over to her, resting her hand under the girl's chin and lifting her head up. Her eyes were soft and kind as she bent down to talk to her. "I know you're worried. I know you want to help. But right now the best thing you can do to help him is let him rest so he can get home safely."

"What will  _ you  _ do to help?" Lyra blurted out. Pan was by her ankles as a small husky dog and she felt him shrink against her, his fur fluffing out. "How will you try and save those kids?" 

Something flashed in Mrs. Coulter's eyes just then that Lyra couldn't quite decipher. Anger, it looked like—no, defiance, indignation. It was quick, and it was soon replaced by a familiar look of gentle sympathy and understanding, but it had been there. And both Lyra and Pan wouldn't forget that it was there. 

"I'm going to call the police right now," Mrs. Coulter said, taking her finger and lightly booping Lyra's nose. "I'll tell them what happened and I'm sure they'll investigate."

"Will they want to speak to Roger? Should I go wake him?" 

"No, no." Mrs. Coulter's patience was starting to wear thin, Lyra could tell. There was a new edge to her voice not unlike the time Lyra asked too many questions about the men from the Magisterium. "He's so tired, and I daresay they'll be too busy to come exactly now before he goes back to Jordan. I'll take care of it, Lyra. Don't you trust me, when I say I'll take care of it?" 

"Of course I do," Lyra said instantly, and she did. She felt foolish, really, to be pressing and doubting Mrs. Coulter as she was doing. The woman had been nothing but kind and helpful to her since they met, and she could only continue to do so now. Lyra was just letting her emotions get the best of her—something Mrs. Coulter said she'd have to learn to control one day. She was being  _ reactive  _ and not  _ proactive.  _ She was letting herself be controlled instead of  _ taking  _ control. 

"Then let me take care of it," Mrs. Coulter soothed. Her hand moved to lightly brush Lyra's cheek. "I'll go make the call now. Stay here and try not to worry yourself too much."

_ We could go see him now,  _ Pan thought to her once Mrs. Coulter had left for her study.  _ She'll probably be a while, and our room is just there.  _

"No, Pan," Lyra said aloud. She felt his cold surprise as she instead sank down onto the sofa and closed her eyes, hugging a teal pillow to her chest. "Mrs. Coulter said to leave him alone, so we will."

"Since when have you ever let anyone tell you what to do?" Pan turned into a leopard and blinked up at her, his head tilted to the side. His voice sounded betrayed, almost, as if she were personally accosting him.

"I do when it's the right thing," Lyra sighed, and her daemon didn't press the matter further as she tried to get a little bit of sleep. But she could tell that he was upset with her as he slept not on the couch with her but on the floor. They didn’t agree on this, but maybe they didn’t always have to agree on things. Maybe it was okay to see things differently. 

Not an hour later they were all getting ready to head out to London again, both Roger and Lyra rested after their shock earlier that morning. 

"It's not every day you get to be in London, Roger, now is it?" Mrs. Coulter said to the boy sweetly as soon as he came out of the room, taking his hand. "Now, follow me over to the washroom. I put on the heater and I think your clothes should be dry by now."

_ Maybe she is trying to keep us away,  _ Lyra began to wonder as they continued to go out shopping. Mrs. Coulter never actually left Lyra and Roger alone together. When she went to go pay for something, she brought Lyra with her, saying she wanted to help her learn more about how money worked. When she wanted to go to one part of the museum while Lyra and Roger wanted to see another, she decided to instead accompany the two of them. She even made Lyra come with her to the restroom, saying it was important to wash one's hands regularly when out in public places. 

_ Why is she doing this?  _ Pan complained when it was dinner time now and rather than eat at the flat Mrs. Coulter took them to a fancy restaurant that had several courses and took, as Lyra noticed, quite a long time. 

_ Maybe we're thinking too much of it,  _ Lyra wavered, thinking about how Roger had never actually left her side and they  _ had  _ been able to talk. Perhaps Mrs. Coulter just didn't want either of them to feel alone or abandoned, given all that happened. Lyra could respect that. It was a kind thing to do, and how much could Lyra hold against Mrs. Coulter if she were simply being overprotective now? That's a far cry better than the lack of attention her uncle ever gave her. 

The thought of her uncle upset her again. She felt that familiar surge of despair and abandonment wash over her. And then she thought of their trip tomorrow and the reason she wanted to go. She felt  _ hope _ course through her, as well as guilt that leaving to pursue the truth about her uncle meant leaving Roger during his time of need. She did her best to shake these feelings off and return to whatever boring thing Mrs. Coulter was saying. She'd focus on the here and now. 

Just then, another thought occurred to Lyra now:  _ the alethiometer.  _ It was still in her white shoulder bag that she'd brought with her and had rested casually next to her on the floor. They'd consulted with it the day before when Mrs. Coulter had told them about Uncle Asriel, and it'd spat the same three symbols out to her: the Madonna, baby, and candle. Exactly in that order. She'd gotten the sense that it wanted to say something  _ else,  _ too, but that it was perhaps waiting for something first. Maybe now, after the wild day Lyra had, it'd be more forthcoming. 

_ Let's take it to the bathroom,  _ Pan pressed, kneading his cat paws quickly on her lap.  _ We can ask it why she's acting like this and see what else it says.  _

_ But we barely even know how to read it yet,  _ Lyra hesitated. 

_ So what! It's better than sitting here doing nothing. See if she allows us to go by ourselves. That'll  _ **_also_ ** _ help us see what, exactly, she's doing.  _

"Mrs. Coulter," Lyra piped up a few moments later during a pause in conversation. "May I be excused to go to the restroom?" 

Her heart was beating as Mrs. Coulter shifted her eyes to stare at her, mid-sip of her glass of red wine. The golden monkey, perched on the empty chair to Lyra's left, glared over at her. 

"Of course, darling." Lyra waited for a "let me come with you," but it never came. So Lyra nodded, grabbed her bag, and then slowly made her way down the restaurant's hallway. 

_ Get it out!  _ Pan urged her since they were safely locked into the stall. 

_ Okay, okay!  _ She took the device out of the bag and then unfolded it from its casing, holding it in her hands. She did what she'd been trying to do the past several times she'd read the machine: clear her mind. Allow it to captivate her focus. Think about it while not thinking about it.  _ Be  _ guided. 

As she stood there in a pink bathroom stall with thick rose aromas swirling around her, things started happening that hadn't occurred before. 

She felt something tug at her consciousness as the machine began to whirl after she moved a few of the symbols. She was able to see, metaphysically almost, the actual symbols the machine had kept pointing to. She saw not the Madonna this time, but  _ Mrs. Coulter  _ and her soft curls and beautiful face looking down at her. And then she saw  _ herself,  _ as if looking in the mirror. Her face was blank and determined, like she was in the midst of trying to read the alethiometer. And then she saw a pouring of light from a candle she couldn't quite see. She followed the light, aware of Mrs. Coulter beside her, and then it was  _ Mrs. Coulter  _ bathed in the light, her face fixed in a tragic passion as she cupped Lyra's face and attacked her with kisses all over her face. She felt the woman's tears spill onto her own skin, and just when Lyra was suffocating and thought she'd never be able to surface, it stopped. 

"She's hiding something," Lyra whispered, moving to touch her face and finding no such tears or anything actually there. 

"But what?" the daemon pressed. He was on her shoulder as an owl, fluffing his feathers nervously. "What is it, Lyra? Can you go back in? 

'We've been in here too long." Lyra shook her head and shoved the machine back in her bag. "We have to go back now."

The vision haunted Lyra as she returned to the table and continued eating her meal. She found herself staring over at Mrs. Coulter is glaringly obvious fascination and detail. The woman didn't seem to mind, although Lyra knew she noticed. She was blinking more than usual as she spoke, and didn't look at Lyra as often. She looked  _ nervous,  _ almost, and Lyra wondered if she'd looked nervous before and Lyra had just never been able to see it. 

When they returned it was getting late and they all had an early day tomorrow, so they put their bags away before Mrs. Coulter announced it was time for bed. 

"Oh, you'll sleep with me tonight, Lyra," Mrs. Coulter said to Lyra as the girl turned away.

"What?" Lyra stopped on the spot, craning her head around to stare at Mrs. Coulter as she was halfway through the door to follow Roger into her bedroom. 

"Let's allow Roger to get some sleep now," Mrs. Coulter said, coming over to Lyra and taking her arm. Lyra looked over at Roger, who was staring at her in confusion. 

"Come on," Mrs. Coulter said again before either Lyra or Roger could speak, tugging at Lyra's arm. "Goodnight, Roger. Sleep tight. Feel free to knock if you need anything."

Pan flew away from them as a bat, fluttering over to Sarcilia who met him in the air.  _ Tell them we're sorry, Lyra _ told him,  _ and we'll see him in the morning _ . The two daemons whispered as Mrs. Coulter guided Lyra away, thereby soon forcing Pan to come with them or else hurt from being away from Lyra for too long.

Lyra felt uncomfortable as she followed Mrs. Coulter to her bedroom just across the hall. All night she'd felt instinctually restless as she thought back to what the alethiometer had shown her. It very much wanted her to know something about Mrs. Coulter--something it  _ also _ didn't quite want to say itself. That's the impression Lyra got, anyway, after having come out of her daze. The alethiometer was conscious and it had a will of its own that it pressed upon Lyra. 

"I've laid out a pair of your pajamas over on the vanity," Mrs. Coulter said as they entered the room. She quickly closed the door shut behind her as Lyra went to the other room to change, feeling herself start to stew. 

This was too much. The alethiometer stuff aside, Lyra quite literally felt herded like cattle, told what to do and where to go and how to do it. She'd hardly spent any real time talking to Roger as they ran around running errands and doing long and boring things. She'd even wanted to tell him about the alethiometer, which could maybe help them figure out what was happening and what they could do to figure it out. She'd wanted to be able to say  _ anything  _ to him other than the dumb pleasantries she knew Mrs. Coulter would approve of. 

Lyra was even more frustrated because she realized she was quite tired, too. Once she was in her little nightgown and had sat down on Mrs. Coulter's big, feather-soft bed, she wanted to close her eyes and fall asleep immediately. But she was upset, and she felt herself just completely lose all patience in this moment and given the nagging feelings the alethiometer had stirred up. 

"Why are you being so controlling?" Lyra blurted out. 

"I  _ beg  _ your pardon?" 

Maybe that wasn't the best way to go about it. Pan's claws scraped instinctually on her shoulders as Lyra turned around in the bed to glare at Mrs. Coulter. The woman had just put on a white facial cream as she climbed into the other side of the bed, but Lyra could see the flush of color that coursed through her face just then. 

"You haven't left me and Roger alone a minute  _ all  _ day," Lyra continued hotly, "and you're being incredibly bossy."

"Is there a reason you want to be alone with him, Lyra?" Mrs. Coulter shot back. "A reason to get away from  _ me?"  _

"No," Lyra countered, quickly, "but it's just—" 

"And have I missed something, Lyra, about  _ you _ being the adult?" Mrs. Coulter's voice was cold now as she sat down in the bed, perfectly poised, and gazed down at Lyra. "Should I have to verify everything through you first?" 

"That's not fair," Lyra huffed.

"But isn't it? You're out of line, Lyra."

"No,  _ you  _ are!" Lyra threw the covers off and jumped out of the bed. "You're trying to control every single thing I do and I can't  _ stand  _ it! I don't  _ want  _ this!" 

"Lyra." Somehow Mrs. Coulter was right next to her, half-leaning on the bed as she took both of Lyra's arms and brought them to her lap. Her blue eyes searched Lyra's, looking for something. "What's the matter with you? What's really bothering you?" 

And then Lyra was crying again, running into Mrs. Coulter so hard she rolled the both of them onto the bed. Pan toppled over into Mrs. Coulter's hair, squeaking as he got stuck and the woman reached up with one hand to help him wiggle free. Lyra clung to her, feeling her anger and frustration fade into sadness and a strange sort of fear. Again the vision from the alethiometer surfaced to the front of her mind, and she saw the woman's face and felt her tears and melted into her caresses. And then she thought of Roger, and how scared he must have been all alone in that warehouse when it didn't even have to happen in the first place. 

"It could've been me," she finally choked up, realizing what else she was thinking. She felt Mrs. Coulter's hands glide over her back now. "I could've gotten kidnapped. We both could have. And who knows what would have happened to us."

"Never, Lyra." Mrs. Coulter's embrace tightened as she held Lyra and then shifted so they were sitting up now. "Don't think that, darling. I'd never let anything happen to you. You'll never be harmed in my care. You know that, don't you?" 

"But what if I wasn't in your care?" Lyra wiped at her face now, wondering again again what the image from the alethiometer meant. She also noticed Mrs. Coulter's face twisting. "All these bad things happened to uncle, and then to Roger… What if I'm next?" 

"You won't be." Mrs. Coulter's voice was fierce now as she kissed Lyra's cheek over and over again as the girl continued to sob quietly. The woman then urged Lyra back under the covers. She brought the sheet up to Lyra's chin and fluffed the pillow before kissing the side of her face once more. "I promise you, Lyra. And I'm…sorry, if I'm being too protective of you. Just as you're scared, I am, too. I don't want anything to ever happen to you, Lyra. I'd rather  _ die _ than let anything bad happen to you."

Lyra supposed part of her should be skeptical, as the alethiometer had made it quite clear Mrs. Coulter was hiding something from her. Whatever she was hiding, though, it wasn't this. This was  _ real.  _ It was comforting, to hear Mrs. Coulter go on like this. In a manner she couldn't quite describe, Lyra felt soothed and comforted knowing how much Mrs. Coulter cared and how safe she actually was. They were misreading her before and not being fair. And the alethiometer didn't tell her the entire story, she figured. As Lyra closed her eyes, finally succumbing to the sleep that raked through her, she felt almost good and safe.  _ Almost.  _

The next morning the trio had a quick breakfast of eggs and fruit before they had to send Roger back off to Oxford. They stood aside in the still-dark morning, watching as George and a car pulled up to the curb. Roger and the man were taking a very early airship back to Oxford, whereas Lyra and Mrs. Coulter were leaving a bit later by car to drive over for their own airship. 

"Say goodbye now," Mrs. Coulter urged them, standing a respectable distance away to give them their space. Lyra felt as if she were floating as she made her way over to her friend. 

"Goodbye," Lyra said, putting her arms around him. "I'll miss you."

"Sarcilia remembered something," Roger whispered to her then, his mouth just next to her ear. 

"What?" Lyra felt like she could barely breathe in that moment. Roger held her so tightly and his body was practically shaking. Pan looked behind them at Mrs. Coulter and the golden monkey, who were looking at them mildly yet intensely at the same time. 

"Right after we woke up in the warehouse, she remembered hearing heeled shoes by the door and someone rushing away when they came in and saw us." He paused just then, as though he weren't sure if he should continue. She heard him gulp. "And she wonders if it could be Mrs. Coulter."

Lyra froze, Pan tightening his own grip on her shoulder as he looked back at their caregiver and her daemon, still watching them closely and intently yet serenely. 

_ She's hiding something,  _ she remembered again, as she had thought all night. She was taken back to the vision of Mrs. Coulter and her teared-up face, reaching for her and shaking her head and simply melting.  _ She's upset about something.  _

_ No,  _ she thought. She shook her head against Roger as she hugged him as tightly as she could, aware of Mrs. Coulter still watching.  _ That's nothing. Could be anyone. Why would it be her? It can't be her.  _

"I dunno, though," Roger said then, his voice once more unsure. "She has such a bad feeling about that monkey. He scares her."

Lyra relaxed at that, knowing very well the feeling he was describing. Pan had felt that feeling, too, but in all of their three months hadn't experienced anything out of the ordinary with Mrs. Coulter. Roger and Sarcilia were tired, too, so it was easy enough for them to get confused. And they'd spent the past day with Mrs. Coulter, so it was understandable to get mixed up. 

"Take care, Roger," Lyra said to him as she let go and pulled back. Roger nodded to her, eyes still haunted as he glanced over at Mrs. Coulter and then turned over to George. The man kindly took Roger's hand and led him over to the car. 

"He's perfectly safe now," Mrs. Coulter said as she came over to Lyra, putting an arm around her. "You see, darling?" Lyra flinched slightly, thinking about what Roger had said and about all of her thoughts, but then relaxed. 

_ He's all mixed up,  _ she reasoned, for Pan, for herself.  _ That doesn't make any sense. He's just confused.  _

_ If you say so,  _ Pan replied, not exactly certain as the golden monkey leaned down to gently pet his little tabby cat head. 

  
_ I do say so,  _ Lyra determined, following Mrs. Coulter back inside to make the last of their preparations before heading out for the North. They'd figure out what happened to her uncle. That was the main mission. But they'd  _ also  _ figure out what happened to Roger, and as they did so, figure out what it was Mrs. Coulter was hiding and what the alethiometer was trying to say about her. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this chapter! I really love writing from Lyra's POV; it's so pure yet, at the same time, very much aware of what's happening in ways she probably doesn't even realize. Season 2 of the show has really got me revved up and I hope to be able to update very, very soon!


	13. Whispering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mrs. Coulter and Lyra head north to Trollesund while Roger travels back to Oxford.

**CHAPTER 13**

**Whispering**

****

"He's on his way now," Mrs. Coulter said quietly into the receiver of her telephone. She was in her office for one last bit of official business before taking off for Trollesund. "George is with him. And I expect the boy to immediately tell others what happened, starting with the cooking staff and then spreading to the Master and possibly to the gyptians around Oxford. We've taken a child or two of theirs as well, so I suspect they'll look into the matter."

"I wish you would have consulted with me first, Marisa." Father MacPhail's voice was stern and heavy on the other end of the line. The golden monkey growled just _sensing_ it. "Are you sure this was the wisest idea?" 

"I couldn't very well leave him when he knew who I was, could I? Secrecy is one the most important pillars of our operations."

"Who would he have told, though?" he asked her then. 

_ Lyra,  _ she thought instantly, biting down on her lip.  _ Only Lyra.  _

Of course the entire Roger situation was a selfish one on multiple levels. One, Mrs. Coulter wanted to spare the boy's life for Lyra's sake. She'd seen how jubilant the girl grows every time she sees him—even under these horrible and frightening circumstances. He brings out a certain light in her that Mrs. Coulter couldn't bear seeing extinguished. It was the only option she had, really: save him and prevent Lyra from losing yet another loved one in her life. It was maternal instinct, perhaps, that drove her to make such a quick decision in that manner. 

Second, Mrs. Coulter had to send him back to Jordan because she didn't want to be responsible for his care. Taking him in  _ was  _ perhaps the smartest option and the best way to control who and what he told. The monkey had suggested it, but Mrs. Coulter couldn't go through with it for the way in which it would inherently change her life with Lyra and even  _ further  _ complicate the work she was so barely able to take up. It just wasn't convenient for her, so she wouldn't do it. She was allowed to make choices like that for herself, she'd decided, and so she had. And now she had to live with the consequences. 

"What if he were to escape, or if the delivery was intercepted?" Mrs. Coulter continued. "There's no telling who he could tell and what damage it could do. It was too risky. We created our anonymous protocols for very valid reasons and I wasn't about to let our second sample get tainted."

"And how about the risk it poses to our third and subsequent samples?" 

He was right. Mrs. Coulter couldn't even be angry at the man and at the rage-induced quiver in his voice. Everything he said here was true. Every question and challenge was completely and one hundred percent warranted. She couldn't deny it, even as she desperately wanted to. She was acting recklessly and risking not only her project but also the Magisterium as a whole, which was far more valuable than any of them individually. At least, that was what she was  _ supposed  _ to think. 

But Lyra changed things. She made the world seem much less black and white. There wasn't an immediate right or wrong answer but, rather, a multitude of  _ different  _ answers coexisting and fighting for her attention. Life was colorful with Lyra, with hues and layers of possibility presented every which way. It just took the right lens and frame of view to see what was imaginable. And Lyra was that lens for Mrs. Coulter. 

"It will be handled," she finally answered, enunciating each syllable as she often did when growing impatient with insufferable men. "I will handle it personally."

"You will," he said back, "and if anything goes wrong, you will be held personally responsible and the Magisterium will not protect you."

She hung up the phone then—or, rather, slammed it down on the table. Her breaths were coming out rapidly as she thought about the  _ audacity _ of these men and their belittling of every single thing she did. In a world of so much color, they stained everything they could with faded shades of white and gray. 

"Mrs. Coulter?" came Lyra's voice at the door. There was a gentle knock, too—hesitant and light. 

"I'll be out in a moment, darling," Mrs. Coulter called back, allowing herself exactly ten seconds to collect herself. It was her ten second rule, to transition from one emotion to another. She could make the switch quite seamlessly, given she had the time to allow herself to get out everything she was feeling. Ten seconds is what she demanded of herself, and it was almost always enough. 

Ten, nine, eight, seven. 

Six, five, four, three. 

Two. 

One. 

She opened the door and smiled down at the girl. She then drew Lyra into a hug. Lyra was surprised, and stood limp, but Mrs. Coulter didn't care. The embrace was more for her benefit than Lyra's, and served as an effective means to help further calm her down. 

"I need some help shutting my suitcase," Lyra said once Mrs. Coulter released her. Her tone was curt as she stepped slightly away from her, Pan looking away aloofly in his cat form. 

Lyra was still upset with her, Mrs. Coulter knew. The girl had released so much pent-up, frustrated energy last night over how Mrs. Coulter was treating her: how  _ controlling _ she was, and how Lyra didn't  _ want  _ that. Her feelings arose from a lot of things, of course, like fear of what happened to Roger and, probably, lingering grief over Asriel. But it was raw. It was real. And Mrs. Coulter had been too taken aback to even be angry with her, as well as worried about her overall mental health. She hoped they could move forward productively now, at any rate. 

_ We'll see how she feels once she figures out what you're up to,  _ the monkey sniffed. It took all her self-control not to step on his tail. 

"Yes, of course," Mrs. Coulter said a few beats later, leading the way to the girl's room. "I hope you've packed enough clothes, and for enough  _ seasons _ . I daresay the temperature is quite volatile in the North this time of year…"

Once the two of them had bullied Lyra's suitcase into submission (it was too full even after Mrs. Coulter had re-packed it), they made one last walk-through before heading over to the lift with the last of their bags, watching the apartment vanish from view with the door sliding shut. 

"How long will we be gone?" Lyra asked her. 

For as long as it took was the answer. There was no guarantee how slow or how fast Mrs. Coulter's work would be. Mrs. Coulter had to observe the experiments and get a sense of what was already happening, which was her first order of business upon arriving at the station. Things were  _ not  _ going well and she clearly needed to find out why. The second batch of children were chartered to arrive by sea, which would take a couple weeks. Mrs. Coulter needed that extra time to make certain adjustments, which would hopefully work and make it so the new children had a much better survival ratio than the ones already there. Maybe she'd even discover the key to it all then, and be able to come back with all the answers. 

_ Highly unlikely,  _ her daemon snarled in her mind, and Mrs. Coulter almost visibly grimaced. 

"There's no telling, really," Mrs. Coulter sighed. "You know I'll be hard at work to help you, don't you?" Mrs. Coulter had told Lyra that she was setting up some important meetings with some important people who would know more about her uncle. It wasn't  _ exactly  _ untrue, as some of her best informants were stationed at Trollesund and knew Asriel well. She'd indeed be able to talk to some of Asriel's old traveling companions—or, rather, have  _ Lyra  _ do it and keep her occupied while she personally ventured further north to the station. 

_ You'll still be leaving her,  _ her daemon noted.  _ Whether in Trollesund or even Svalbard. Just what is your point?  _

It would all work out, Mrs. Coulter told herself again, brushing him off. She just had to believe in herself and her ability to figure things out as she went along. She also had to recognize she really didn't have any other choice if she wanted to spend as much time with Lyra as possible. She had to go north, and so she had to bring Lyra with her. It was as simple as that. 

The girl nodded, but something seemed off about her. Maybe she was sad to see her friend go, but as Mrs. Coulter eyed her from the side she almost saw  _ suspicion  _ cloud her features. 

_ Oh, no,  _ she thought, aware of the monkey scoffing.  _ What is that?  _

_ Maybe the boy let on something,  _ he offered, and Mrs. Coulter felt cold. She'd done her best to prevent that from happening, and had exhausted herself the entire day keeping everyone busy with no time for idle chatting. So he couldn't have, but if he did, and if Lyra found out… She didn't let herself finish the thought as they hurried over to their car, lugging their suitcases with them into the backseat. 

When they finally boarded the airship and were high in the sky, Lyra turned to asking Mrs. Coulter a plethora of questions about herself. 

"What's your favorite fruit?" she asked. 

"Oranges."

"Where did you grow up?" 

"Geneva."

"What's your favorite color?" 

"Teal."

"What did you want to be when you were younger?" 

_ Powerful.  _ "A philanthropist."

"What's your biggest fear?" 

"Heights."  _ And losing you.  _

And so it went, for almost a full half hour nonstop. Mrs. Coulter was surprised as the questions just  _ spilled  _ from Lyra's mouth. She seemed very invested in hearing the woman's answers. Mrs. Coulter wondered for a moment if she perhaps hadn't shared enough about herself with Lyra to the point where the girl felt like she didn't know her. They spent all their time together and had learned about each other's daily lives, like how Lyra takes at least thirty minutes to fall asleep and Mrs. Coulter puts three kinds of facial cream on every single night as part of her skin care. They'd learned about each other's tastes, as Mrs. Coulter noticed the kinds of dresses Lyra picked out and then bought her more accordingly, and Lyra had even caught on to which handbags Mrs. Coulter preferred to take with her. 

But that wasn't  _ personal _ , really. That was routine. What  _ did  _ Lyra know about Mrs. Coulter's personal life? Not very much, she supposed. Part of that was on purpose, as Mrs. Coulter was  _ dreadfully  _ aware, but maybe she'd gone too far. She decided to answer Lyra's questions as fully as she felt prudent, and then ask the girl some questions of her own (Lyra didn't like peanut butter, she only just now found out). 

Once they landed a few hours later, Mrs. Coulter took Lyra's hand and watched the girl's face as they stepped out onto the docks of Trollesund. Her eyes brightened and her mouth fell open as she gazed over at the rows of ships docked and lined up—fishing boats, trade ships, carryvans. People scurried about to and fro, lugging around nets and coolers and other big trunks and equipment. There was a busy sort of energy filling the air, where spirits were high, everyone was bustling, and it was hard not to feel caught up in something grand and important. 

"Wow," Lyra breathed, any unease or suspicion absent as she tightened her hold on Mrs. Coulter's hand and practically dragged her forward, their daemons struggling to keep up. "This is  _ amazing!  _ It's like this every day, all the time?" 

"Yes," Mrs. Coulter laughed, watching as Lyra eyed a group of smaller boats tied up nearby. "This here is the fishermen's corner. They come in every day with a new lot of fish. When we come back through on our way home, we can pick up some, if you'd like."

"Cool," said Lyra, peering up at a man bringing in some nets from the water over on the deck of the boat. Pan changed into a seagull and flew above their heads, imitating all the fishermen's daemons. 

_ She loves this,  _ Mrs. Coulter thought, catching herself smile.  _ It was good to bring her here.  _

_ You say that now,  _ the monkey cautioned,  _ but just wait until the newness wears off. We've got a  _ **_lot_ ** _ of work to do yet. She will get bored quite quickly.  _

_ We'll cross that bridge when we get there,  _ she tossed back, and continued to show Lyra around before moving up to the town proper, which elicited even more excitement from the girl with all the canvas-dressed travelers and their big packs and grand stories just waiting to be shared with her. 

"We'll be staying here for the night," Mrs. Coulter said once they reached the main hotel, "and will set off for the further north come the morning."

"We only get to spend one day here?" Lyra protested. Pan landed on her shoulder as a hawk and fluffed his feathers out. "What if more of these people know about Uncle Asriel? There's so much we can look into!" 

"Shh, Lyra," Mrs. Coulter whispered, looking around them. No one had heard, but she did so more for dramatic emphasis. "This isn't a safe space for talking. Wait until we get into our room."

"But are we gonna talk to people?" Lyra insisted, not budging as Mrs. Coulter tried to urge her forward. 

_ See?  _ the monkey growled to her.  _ This is how it's going to be for the entire time. And this is while she's still  _ **_excited._ **

"Of course, Lyra," Mrs. Coulter sighed. She couldn't entirely disagree with the monkey, but she also didn't quite want to acknowledge what it is he was saying. "All in due time. You'll be able to talk to some people who knew your uncle well."

This was hard. Mrs. Coulter felt herself start to panic slightly, with her chest racing and her entire body screaming for her to stop. She didn't know what she was doing, or how she would keep up this pretense. She needed to get to the Station as soon as possible to begin her experiments, but what would she do with Lyra? Where would she find these "people" to talk to? 

_ You've gone too far this time,  _ the monkey despaired with her, shuffling on his feet.  _ You've lost control.  _

A thought occurred to Mrs. Coulter just then as she mentally ran through a list of every single person she knew in Trollesund.  _ Asriel's lab.  _ From what she gleaned in the blueprints she found, it was built already. Asriel had been there working before he came back to secure his funding. Her informants agreed, saying it matched their understanding of where he'd been and what he was doing. He'd been researching Dust in ways no one else could ever do. All his work was there just  _ waiting  _ for her, and would also hold clues for Lyra. 

And with the lab came another thought: Thorold, Asriel's loyal butler and research partner. Thorold had waited for Asriel countless times over the years, keeping up his various households when he was out traveling and researching. In fact, knowing Thorold, he could be at the Svalbard lab still, potentially unaware that anything even happened as Asriel was prone to disappear for months on end. Perhaps, if they went to this lab, the old man would be there, and could be a source of distraction for Lyra as Mrs. Coulter headed a little bit further south to focus on her work at the Station… 

_ This is a long shot,  _ the monkey warned, his fur bristling. She could sense the strong pangs of misgiving radiate from him and strike her right in the face. 

_ And perhaps it's our  _ **_only_ ** _ shot,  _ Mrs. Coulter resolved. She'd made up her mind. She'd get through this day in Trollesund and see who she could recruit from around town, but her larger goal was Asriel's lab in Svalbard. It was time to finally put her discovery into good use. 

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

As Mrs. Coulter and Lyra were settling down in Trollesund, Roger was safely getting back to Jordan. 

Mr. George had dropped him off at the front gate and walked him inside. He was a kind older man. He didn't say much, which Roger didn't really mind, but his actions were gentle and considerate. He made room for Roger on the airship, checking to make sure his seat belt was on and that he had a cup of tea when the cart came around. He probably didn't know that it was Roger's first time on an airship, and how comforting those small little actions were. Roger could respect him, and thanked him profusely once they were in the entrance hall. 

"Take care of yourself now, son," Mr. George said in a low, gravelly voice. He extended his hand to give Roger a little index card. "This is my phone number, back over at Mrs. Coulter's flat. We have our own lines. If you have any trouble, don't be afraid to call, you hear?" 

"Yes, sir," Roger replied, nodding and slipping the card into his pant pocket. The man nodded back and then was off back the way they'd come, walking slowly and proudly through the giant doors. 

"Roger!" 

Mr. Dawson was near tears as Roger ran into the kitchen and right into his arms. It felt so  _ good  _ to be around people he knew and who cared about him. Roger was touched as all the servants stopped what they were doing and rushed over to him, exclaiming their greetings and their shock and their happiness and their concern over where he'd been and what had happened.

"I knew something was amiss," Mr. Dawson growled once Roger explained. "I knew ya wouldn't have left us like that. Good God! This is awful."

More muttering led to Roger being guided up the stairs and down the hall over to the Master's study, where the man welcomed him with open, outstretched arms and much sympathy as Roger told him, too, what had happened. All these people cared so much. 

"This is so important for us to know," the Master said when he was done, "and I'm so glad Mrs. Coulter found you and was able to help you get home."

Something passed between the Master and his daemon just then that Roger wasn't completely able to make out. Mr. Dawson didn't seem to notice, as his head was bowed respectfully as the Master and Roger talked. But Roger saw the man and his daemon exchange a very meaningful glance. 

_ They look like they're disappointed in something,  _ Sarcilia tried to guess, squinting in her owl form to take a closer look at the raven. Her head was up, proud with dignity as always, but her eyes didn't have their same shine. They almost looked  _ worried  _ about something. 

_ Worried at the mention of Mrs. Coulter,  _ Sarcilia pointed out. Roger shuffled his feet at the thought, growing more and more uncomfortable. Sarcilia didn't trust Mrs. Coulter and her monkey. She hadn't the first time they met, which was when Lyra had run up to them with the beautiful woman before dinner a few days after Asriel died, and she hadn't the handful of other times their paths had crossed. Most recently in London, Sarcilia had been  _ terrified  _ of them. 

_ Remember how worried she was during the circus?  _ she continued, pressing her talons into Roger's shoulders,  _ saying that children shouldn't go off by themselves? She  _ **_knew_ ** _ people were out stealing kids. And just look what happened to us!  _

_We don't know that,_ Roger countered, but he couldn't help the chill that ran down his spine at the memory and at the connection. Was there such a thing as too much of a coincidence? How was one able to tell? 

"I hope you take some time to relax now, Roger," the Master was saying, and Mr Dawson was bowing again as his hands gripped Roger's shoulders. "You'll want to get lots of rest."

_ Everyone else is still away,  _ Sarcilia thought to him as they sat alone in their shared little bedroom. Outside they heard voices murmuring and footsteps moving back and forth. "Gyptians," they thought they heard. "Word out," they also caught. 

_ Well, it's all outta our hands now,  _ Roger conceded as he closed his eyes and laid his head back, pulling up his thin little bedspread up as far as it would go. 

_ The Master will look into it,  _ Sarcilia agreed, cuddling up to his neck as a little orange cat. 

And so they rested, after what had been a horrible past few days, with the blind trust that the adults in their life would take care of everything—and of them, and of Lyra, and of all the other kids who were still kidnapped. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing from Roger's POV was new yet fun! I hope to do more of it. I'm also really excited for the next chapter, which features more of Lyra and some other important events (and nonevents, given the changes) in Trollesund :)


	14. Cloud-pine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Mrs. Coulter is away for a couple hours, Lyra sneaks out of their Trollesund hotel room at the alethiometer’s urging to meet a strange man in a house just outside of town, where he asks her to identify a spray of cloud-pine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A chapter that makes a real ode to canon plots, and how my version of events adjusts things :)

**CHAPTER 14**

**Cloud-pine**

Lyra and Mrs. Coulter were getting ready in their hotel room for a day of very important investigations. It was a moment Lyra had been looking forward to for months, really, ever since she came to live with Mrs. Coulter in London. The mystery shrouding her uncle's death was most unsettling, and it was now finally her chance to look into it and find some actual answers.

At least, that's what Mrs. Coulter  _ said _ . But what she said and what she did were two very different things, Lyra was starting to realize. 

"Lyra," Mrs. Coulter called from the bathroom, "would you be a dear and please come bring my earrings? I think I left them somewhere on the end table…"

With a sigh, Lyra jumped off the bed and grabbed the earrings, turning them over in her palm to take in the shimmering gold. They were shiny and sleek and very well-made. These earrings easily cost more than all of the possessions Lyra had ever owned at Jordan. Mrs. Coulter lived a life of such luxury and extravagance that still felt so foreign to Lyra. On the ride over Mrs. Coulter had described her childhood in Geneva with all the big, posh parties and the royal government dinners. It sounded so exciting and important, as Lyra very well might think, but it also sounded inherently  _ privileged _ in a way Lyra was only now starting to fully comprehend and think about critically. 

_ It makes her see things differently,  _ Pan agreed, fidgeting on her shoulder as a Guinea pig.  _ Ways she might not even be able to notice because it's how she's always been.  _

But Lyra  _ hadn't  _ always lived such a life of luxury and comfort. She remembered how it felt to barely have a coin to her name and to have no more than the shirt on her back and the shoes on her feet. It was different, the world she was raised in and the world Mrs. Coulter was raised in. Very different. 

"Thank you, dear," Mrs. Coulter sang as Lyra brought the earrings to her. She put them in as she continued to gaze at Lyra, her blue eyes checking her over. "Are you alright?" 

_ No,  _ Lyra wanted to say as she stared back. She felt Pan fidget again, his little paws kneading the silk of her shoulder.  _ I'm worried about what happened to my uncle, and about Roger, and about who you even are and what it is you've done.  _

Lyra still felt very shaken by what the alethiometer had shown her. She couldn't stop thinking about the striking vision of Mrs. Coulter's tear-stricken face as she tried to explain something Lyra couldn't quite make out—something that the alethiometer was deliberately hiding from her. She also remembered what Roger had suggested, and how even though she fluffed it off, this nagging feeling wouldn't quite go away. And it was oh so strange to keep this from Mrs. Coulter, who up until this point had been the one person she could say  _ anything  _ to, be it about her uncle, Roger, book work, even  _ Pan.  _

Now, as she was traveling across the North as she'd always dreamed, Lyra felt uncertain. She felt scared. She felt hesitant. She felt nothing of what she'd  _ thought  _ she'd feel on this momentous journey they'd embarked on. And the disconnect was disappointing. 

"Yes, I'm fine," Lyra answered as she remembered herself. "Just tired, Mrs. Coulter."

"You've been so tired lately," Mrs. Coulter said, reaching down to brush the edge of Lyra's jaw. "I worry about you, Lyra."

"You don't have to," Lyra said, resisting the urge to wrestle out of Mrs. Coulter's grasp. "I'm fine."

"But I'll always worry about you," Mrs. Coulter murmured, her eyes still soft yet now simultaneously fierce as they continued to bore into Lyra's. She finally moved away as she went to splash some more powder onto her face and continue getting ready. And in that moment, Lyra felt something tug at her heart. Despite whatever else she was feeling, Lyra felt touched that someone cared and worried so much about her like this. It was intense and comforting and more than she'd ever known. In that way it was enticing to simply fall and melt into, like she had so many times before. 

But, she  _ couldn't.  _ Something inside her said she just couldn't. Even if she very much wanted to. 

"I'll be back in a couple hours," Mrs. Coulter was saying ten minutes later as she gathered up her handbag. "Some important business I have to do on my own. Make some calls, meet some men, lay down some tracks. What will you do while I'm away?" 

Lyra and Pan exchanged the exact same thought at that:  _ the alethiometer.  _

"I think I might study these maps," Lyra said instead, pulling out the stack of maps of the North Mrs. Coulter had packed for them. "To try and figure out where else we might like to go."

"Very good," said Mrs. Coulter, her eyes flickering, and with another few parting words she was off. 

As soon as she closed the door, Lyra dove for her little white shoulder bag resting against the bed frame on her side of the bed. Her fingers moved to retrieve the little velvet covering and then hastily unfolded it to take out the little golden machine. 

They hadn't had a moment to themselves lately to properly consult it. Her readings had been getting clearer and clearer the past few days as she'd practiced. It was as if all she needed was a sudden nudge of inspiration to realize she could sink her entire soul into it and actually make out what it was saying. Things were better and she was getting answers  _ except  _ when it came to Mrs. Coulter and her uncle, which should probably worry her more than it actually did. 

"Ask it where she's going," Pan insisted as she stared at it. He changed into his favorite ermine form and sniffed his whiskers at her. 

"No, that's a waste of time," Lyra countered. "And I don't really care what she's doing. Right now I need to know who we can talk to here while she's away from us. I'm going to ask it where we should go."

The actual process of reading the alethiometer still amazed Lyra. Everything came so smoothly as she shifted the needles to point toward symbols after hardly even thinking about it. She had to use the symbols to both pose her questions and understand the machine's answers, and each meaning somehow came naturally to her as she calmed her mind and stared down at the dials and handles. It was like breathing. She didn't need to think about it; she just  _ did  _ it. 

After a few minutes, the alethiometer gave her a very complicated sequence of symbols that she didn't entirely understand. “Witch” was the clearest meaning, which she derived from both the moon and the madonna coming up together in sequence. There was also a wildman in there, and an anchor, and a globe. Lyra had a stunning image of a house with a man waiting for her to arrive. But there was something  _ else  _ that was just too higher-order for her to see, yet didn't seem to impede her knowing where to go as the strong vision of a little house on the outside of town filled her mind with perfect clarity. 

"Let's go!" she exclaimed once she was sure, grabbing her bag and heading toward the door. Pan followed as a moth as they were doing their best to properly sneak about. They were almost  _ certain  _ Mrs. Coulter would have set some scouts to keep an eye on her, making sure she didn’t leave and cause trouble in the ways she definitely was about to do. They took care to creep noiselessly by the hotel staff, hiding behind plants and bookcases as they made their way further through the lobby. But the poor saps didn't even know anyone went by as she moved so quickly through the door to the side parlor and then ran out to the main entrance, taking in a deep breath of the sea-tinted air.

Lyra loved this town. She’d never left Brytain before coming here. At first London had felt exotic and different compared to Oxford, but now Lyra realized how even London was similar enough to the Brytish way of life she’d grown up in. Trollesund was the main port of the country of Lapland, which was far in the North by Norroway. The witches were known to rule the lands further north of here, where civilization ceased to exist and there was nothing but witches and cliffghasts and armored bears, or _panserbjørn._ Lyra wasn’t one to bury herself in books, but she would when the North was concerned. She’d learned everything she could, including the history, climate, politics, geography. _Everything._

It was relatively warm for this time of year. It was early June so the temperature hovered around 57 or so degrees, sometimes dipping into the 40s and getting no higher than 65 or so. Lyra was wearing a long-sleeved dress appropriate for this kind of weather. It was well-fitting and kept her warm, yet it wasn’t suffocating in the way some of her others were. It was perfect for the breeze that tugged at her now as she and Pan followed a well-trodden dirt path just outside the city, where they soon spotted a green-painted wooden house just within sight of the sea. Pan was hovering above her as a seagull again, riding the breeze by gliding about, and Lyra felt eerily calm yet anxious as she moved over to the front door and pressed the doorbell.

She didn’t know why she was here, but the alethiometer had guided here to this very spot for some kind of reason. She had to trust it, she knew—even if she didn’t know exactly what it was doing or what it was telling her. 

Not even a minute after knocking, the door opened and a man answered. He had on servant clothes, it seemed, but he didn’t ask Lyra who she was or what she was doing. He simply bowed to her and then showed her inside, telling her to please kindly wait in the parlor while he fetched her some coffee. 

_ That’s weird,  _ Pan observed, on her shoulder now as a Siamese cat as he took in the cluttered room with its arctic-themed decor and patterned quilts.  _ Why didn’t he ask who we were? _

_ Maybe he was expecting us,  _ Lyra thought. It made her heart start to beat just a little bit faster.  _ Maybe that’s why the alethiometer sent us here. Maybe someone here knows something about Uncle Asriel and knew we were here. _

Before the servant returned with the refreshments, another man came into the room. He was short, fat, and bald with a snake daemon whose eyes were the same brilliant green shade as his own. He looked  _ wild  _ to Lyra in a way she couldn’t quite explain. Something was different about him. He wasn’t entirely  _ human,  _ it felt like, although she didn’t think she’d ever met someone who wasn’t entirely human before. But something about him felt off in a way that piqued her curiosity while also causing Pan to feel unsettled. 

“Lyra Belacqua,” the man greeted, dipping his head to her. Lyra’s face twisted as she exchanged an uneasy look with Pan. “I’ve been waiting to meet you.”

“How did you know my name?” she blurted out before she could help herself, eying him carefully. He wore a handsome black suit with polished leather boots. He seemed wealthy in the way that Mrs. Coulter and all her friends were wealthy, yet he didn't seem to carry himself with the same blatant arrogance. There was something reserved about him, in a way. And it somehow made Lyra trust him more.

“May I ask how you knew to come here to my establishment?

_ Establishment?  _ Pan echoed in her mind, his cat ears drawn back a little.  _ What is this? Lyra, where are we? _

“Please, don’t be alarmed,” the man said softly, his voice taking on a kinder tone as if reading her thoughts. “I won’t harm you, child. My name is Dr. Martin Lanselius. I am the diplomatic Consul of the witches here in Lapland.”

At that all apprehension vanished from Lyra's system. Witches? The very same ones she'd heard countless tales about? The fierce female warriors of the sky? Pan changed into a snowy white owl, peering curiously at the man and his daemon as he gazed at them calmly yet expectantly in return. The servant was back with the coffee and some biscuits, and Dr. Lanselius invited Lyra to sit and enjoy them, taking some himself first to prove they were safe.

Lyra helped herself to a cup and continued to stare at the man as he proceeded to stare at her. They were at quite the impasse, it seemed, which amused her. There was so much she wanted to ask. Who was he? Why was he waiting for her? What did he know? Did he know Mrs. Coulter? What would  _ Mrs. Coulter  _ think of what she was doing and where she was?

_ She’d kill us,  _ Pan moaned, and Lyra agreed, although right now she was too focused to worry about what Mrs. Coulter would or wouldn’t do. She was here and she was handling it.

“I suppose we’re both here about my uncle,” she finally piped up, deciding to start there.

“Asriel Belacqua,” he said quietly, his eyes never leaving her face.

“Yeah. He died some three month ago. They say it was a heart attack, but I know it ain’t nothing like that. My uncle was healthy and strong and was doing some important research here in the North. And so I’m here to figure out what it was and to see if I can find out what really happened to him.”

The man smiled then, which was quite unexpected. Lyra didn’t know  _ what  _ she’d expected, really, but it perhaps wasn’t that, and it  _ certainly  _ wasn’t what the man said next. 

“I’ve no doubt you will learn more about what happened to Asriel, my dear child. But you are here, I believe, on account of the alethiometer. And there is something related to it that I must ask of you.”

It was the strangest thing, that he knew about the alethiometer. Yet at the same time, it made sense; the alethiometer had made this place out to be safe and a place she didn’t have to hide what she knew and what she was doing, which was why she was truthful about her uncle. It was also why she agreed to show the man her instrument, and listened to him explain it originated in the 17th century and was first created in the city of Prague as a way to measure the influence of the planets. She then performed a most curious task and retrieved the cloud-pine that was used by a certain witch named Serafina Pekkala.

“Well, Lyra, that is remarkable,” he said to her when she came back with the appropriate spray. “You are lucky to have an instrument like that, and I wish you well with it.”

“Can you tell me something now, Dr. Lanselius?”

“Of course.”

“Did you know my uncle when he was alive?”

A look crossed the man’s face just then. Sadness, it looked like, flecked with something that almost resembled pity. It was a quick look, however, and was replaced with the mild patience he’d exuded all of their visit as he nodded to her. “I did. He crossed here many times during his travels and came to see me.”

“Did he work with any of the witches?” Despite herself, Lyra was almost breathless as she was hungry to learn more about her uncle and what he was doing and what might be relevant to their search. This felt like the first actual part of her investigation, and a real chance to learn something that could potentially make a difference. 

_ How are we supposed to tell Mrs. Coulter about what we find out here?  _ Pan thought in the back of her mind as they both grew excited thinking about what useful information Dr. Lanselius would be able to provide them. 

_ We won’t,  _ she answered back easily, too impatient to get what she could out of Dr. Lanselius.

“I believe he did,” the man said, although his voice was notably measured and careful. “In fact, I believe he knew one from a neighboring clan, of Lake Lubana.”

“Who?” Lyra demanded, her little voice ringing through the small room with so much force that it surprised the man. Both he and his daemon simply blinked at her. 

“Ruta Skadi,” he said, his eyes narrowing now. “Although, I wouldn’t go around advertising that, Lyra. Certain information is dangerous when it happens upon the wrong ears.”

What did that mean, Lyra wondered? She had the creeping sensation that Dr. Lanselius knew more than he was letting on. He knew her name, for starters, and that she had the alethiometer, and all about her uncle. Maybe  _ he  _ had an alethiometer, too, which was why he knew so much about it?

_ Or maybe the witches know things, too?  _ Pan ventured, on her shoulder as his familiar ermine form now.

“It has been a pleasure, Lyra Belacqua,” the man said next, moving forward and extending his hand. Lyra took it, surprised at how smooth and small his hands were. “I’ll part by also offering you this.” He broke off a twig from the cloud-pine and handed it to her, which she took gingerly. “This twig will allow you to contact the witch Serafina Pekkala. You’ve never met her, but she’s aware of who you are, as she had some acquaintanceship with your uncle. If you’re ever in need, you may use that to call her. But I again urge you to tread carefully and think wisely about what you do and who you talk to. And above all, I urge you to lean closer toward your alethiometer as you search for what it is you seek.”

With that Lyra left, mystified as the man showed her the way out and waited for her at the door as she made her way back into town. She had the distinct sensation of having been let in on a very grand and important secret regarding Uncle Asriel and the witches and the twig of the cloud-pine she now kept wrapped up safely with the alethiometer. Pan wasn’t sure about it, per usual.

“This feels dangerous,” he whispered to her as they headed back to the hotel. They’d been gone not even an hour so assumed Mrs. Coulter was still out and about and would be none the wiser about their activities. “What if he was tricking us? We should ask the alethiometer.”

“We can,” she said to him kindly, reaching to pet him between the ears. “But I don’t think he was lying, Pan. He  _ knew  _ me somehow. It was like he was  _ waiting  _ for me. And even the alethiometer told us to go there, so it must have been okay. Right?”

It was so hard to be going about this on her own. The alethiometer was a burden Lyra alone had to bear, according to the Master and now Dr. Lanselius. Lyra knew that what she could do was special, and that the instrument was delicate and treasured and not something to take lightly. But it felt wrong still, to hide it from Mrs. Coulter who had been so kind to her and taken such good care of her for all this time. Yet she couldn’t help but feel the misgivings about her, and not read too much into what the alethiometer was telling-yet-not-quite-telling her.

They snuck back into their room easily, with anyone hardly even looking since it must have been check-out time. People were clustering around the front counter with their bags strewn everywhere and voices shouting to be heard over all the commotion. She slipped back into the room, clicked the lock shut, shrugged out of her shoes, and then flopped onto the bed, turning the needles of the alethiometer seamlessly and watching them as they told her what it is she wanted to know.

“He told us the truth,” she said aloud when it was done, snapping the instrument shut. She put it away and then moved onto her back, grabbing a pillow and tugging it tightly to her chest. “We did it, Pan. We did something important today. We’re learning more about my uncle.”

“Of course we are.” He hopped onto her belly as a fluffy brown rabbit, nestling himself between the pillow and her arm. “And Mrs. Coulter can help us, too. I know we’re not sure about her, but we can keep our eyes out and  _ also  _ let her help us, can’t we?”

“We can, ” Lyra whispered, as if barely allowing herself to admit it. She’d asked the alethiometer about Mrs. Coulter just now, too. She posed a very specific question to it this time: was Mrs. Coulter going to hurt her? A resounding  _ no  _ was what the machine said, but it also hinted back at those three symbols. There was still something the woman wasn’t telling her, which bothered Lyra since she also remembered what Roger had said and was trying very hard to put the two together.

But, maybe there  _ was  _ nothing to put together, Lyra thought then. The alethiometer didn't say anything about Roger when it was showing her those symbols. Maybe Lyra was simply exhausting herself for nothing in trying to tie the two things together. Maybe there wasn't anything bad happening at all, and this secret was about something different, something  _ good.  _

Mrs. Coulter came back to the room about forty minutes later to find Lyra there sleeping with her daemon and the pillow, her shoes thrown off to the side with her purse and her little red coat that she hadn’t yet worn.

“Wake up, my sleepy girl,” Lyra heard the woman croon near her ear. Lyra’s eyes snapped open and she got up with a start. Mrs. Coulter smiled as she ran her hands along Lyra’s face and looked down at her, worry clouding her eyes again. “Why are you so tired, darling? This isn't not good. I really must call you a doctor to check your bloodwork.”

“I’m fine,” Lyra insisted, rolling her eyes and then asking Mrs. Coulter all about what she did and who she talked to. That would have to wait, Mrs. Coulter explained, as she had set up a very tasty lunch for them downstairs in the hotel’s restaurant, featuring fresh fish and clams from the harbor that Lyra had never tasted before.

After lunch they did more detective work, although to Lyra it didn’t  _ feel  _ as important and productive as the work she’d done herself with Dr. Lanselius. But she went along with it, asking the men Mrs. Coulter introduced her to simple questions about her uncle and his work. They didn’t provide much (although she learned that her uncle was one of the best card players this side of the mountains), and after more time out and about sightseeing and taking a look at what everyone was trading, Lyra was tired and went to sleep promptly after dinner, her mind swirling with thoughts about witches and the arctic and, once she’d started dreaming, Mrs. Coulter herself on a spray of cloud-pine flying through the air toward the far, far North. 

And so Lyra’s visit to Trollesund came and went. The next morning they checked out of their hotel room bright and early, taking only their small carry-along baggage since the rest was still stored on the zeppelin. Once they left the hotel, Lyra took Mrs. Coulter's hand and followed her back down toward the docks where the airship was preparing for their departure toward a deeper region of the North. Due to the time of year she'd arrived in the North, Lyra never heard of an armored bear taking up work behind a bar, or of an aeronaut coming into town to look for him. In an alternate reality where she arrived in Trollesund a few months later, she might have heard about these events and these activities and met a group of people who would change her life and her path toward her destiny. She also might have heard about a group of missing children heading this way, too, or of there being increased and suspicious activities in the North where she was now heading. 

And yet, she identified a piece of cloud-pine during her visit—a simple thing, really, that set something in motion that Lyra herself couldn't even begin to fathom. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Looking forward to writing more! I feel like the entire story has been leading up to the events coming up in subsequent chapters, and I'm just so excited :D Thank you very kindly for reading and for sticking with this story, if you've kept up with us so far!


	15. Adjusting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a very long (and tense) airship ride, Lyra and Mrs. Coulter end up at a surprising place where Lyra can hopefully get some answers that she so desperately seeks. But it doesn't come without a very steep price.

**CHAPTER 15**

**Adjusting**

****

The airship ride across the North was longer than Lyra would have expected, which made her nervous. 

This was only her third time on an airship, so she supposed she didn't know what to expect. All of these times were with Mrs. Coulter, too: once from Oxford to London, then from London to Trollesund, and now from Trollesund to the North. The first two trips had been shorter, which made Lyra come to expect that of these voyages: moving quickly from Destination A to Destination B. But  _ this  _ was a long haul ride, the pilot had come in to tell them. It’d take longer and the air was rougher. At first Lyra panicked that something was wrong and that they would die and fall to their imminent deaths, but everyone had kindly assured her and explained that it really did just take this long. That’s how it worked, these trans-national and regional voyages. 

They were headed to Svalbard, which was as far north as the North could get. It was the home of the armored ice bears and was frequented by the wild witches who flew throughout the entire North region. Lyra’s uncle had done some exploring in the area, Mrs. Coulter had discovered, and their next step was to learn more about him and his work there. She didn't know where exactly they were going, but she didn't really worry about that as the prospect of it made such great sense. 

_ And we also have an insider,  _ Lyra thought vaguely, looking down at the white shoulder bag on her lap that held the alethiometer and, tucked inside that, the twig of cloud-pine that belonged to Serafina Pekkala.

"When will we get there?" Lyra asked after what felt like forever but was probably only a few hours. They were in a fancy Magisterium zeppelin that had several places to be: the main common room, a selection of bedrooms, a small lavatory, several staff rooms, and so on. They were in the common room now, which was decorated sparsely but practically with a sofa, a pair of armchairs, a glass coffee table, some cabinets, and a small bookshelf. Mrs. Coulter occupied the sofa and the coffee table, with  _ mounds  _ of papers and books and journals strewn all around her.

"Not for a long while, Lyra, so you may as well find something to amuse yourself."

Mrs. Coulter was crabby. Lyra scowled as the woman shot her a cross look before bending back down over her papers. She had some kind of important work to do and Lyra could tell she was stressed about it. She spoke in very short, charged sentences when she was stressed, and tended to barely even acknowledge Lyra's presence. During this leg of their trip, which had started off so joyfully as they giggled and tried to make eggs on a hot plate they found tucked away in a corner, she’d become distant and uninteresting.

_ She's always like this around the Magisterium,  _ Pan noted on Lyra's shoulder as a sharp-eyed falcon.  _ When those men come to the flat, here in their airship… Why?  _

Lyra didn’t know, and she decided she was going to ask the alethiometer about it. It felt wrong in a way, to spy on Mrs. Coulter like that. Lyra realized most people in the world couldn't easily do that. They had to sort things out the old fashioned way, where one could only guess and suss out what was happening from what they could see and feel in front of them. But Lyra wasn't most people, after all, and she thought it’d be a shame not to look into things when she could. Her uncle would want her to do so, and would be disappointed if she didn’t. And the Master and Dr. Lanselius seemed to encourage her to use the machine at every available moment.

"I think I'll go to my room, then" Lyra tested, looking carefully at the woman. 

"Fine." She didn't look up. Not even the monkey did. He was curled up under her legs, picking at something in his lithe little black paws. Pan tutted encouragingly in her ear, so Lyra grabbed her bag and headed back to the room she’d claimed as hers, which was down the hall and over to the right.

Just like the common room, this bedroom was modest yet practical. It had a single twin bed, one small dresser, and an end table. Everything was a very dark wood—Brazilian ebony, she thought she heard Mrs. Coulter say. There was a pretty, deep sheen on the wood that glittered from the filtered sunlight from the window. It was all good enough for Lyra as she plopped down on the bed and opened up her bag.

_ Be careful now, Lyra. _ Pan climbed up next to her as a tabby cat but didn’t speak. His eyes narrowed as he looked all around the small cabin from the ceiling to the floor.

_ Do you think we’re... _ **_bugged?_ ** Lyra asked him, also looking around. The thought had never occurred to her before, which made her slightly nervous when she considered all that she'd seen and done lately. 

_ I don’t know.  _ He flew into the air as an owl now, carefully checking a corner.  _ And I can’t be sure. Maybe we should just...Not talk out loud as we do it? To be safe? _

That’s what Uncle Asriel would do, Lyra decided, so she agreed as she lifted the cover of the alethiometer and started turning the needles, her hands moving quickly and confidently.

Her question was simple but the answer was not. “What is Mrs. Coulter up to?” she had asked it, directing it to the Madonna, the ant, and the candle. In response, the machine walked her through a herd of symbols and meanings that, oddly enough,  _ further  _ complicated the set pattern she’d been getting about Mrs. Coulter.

This time the vision was darker. Lyra could barely see, and she felt a creeping sense of dread consume her. An hourglass most prominently kept coming up again and again, which caused the little hairs on Lyra’s neck to stand up.  _ Death.  _ That was the most obvious meaning. But an hourglass could also mean a great change, or running out of time, or the delicacy and fragility of the human state. Balance was one of the answers, too. For whatever reason, though, the alethiometer wasn’t exactly telling her which meaning it was. It was doing that  _ thing  _ again where it fluttered in and out to the point that the meanings almost jumped away entirely from her, as if the device didn’t want her to get too close.

As she tried again, screwing up her face and focusing more intently than she’d focused on anything else in her entire life, it gave her a clear yet seemingly unrelated anwer:  _ Be strong. _

Lyra looked up at Pan as she cleared her eyes and her mind. He was sitting stiffly next to her, a tabby cat again, and his fur was also ruffled. As she opened her mouth, he jutted his unsheathed paw out on her knee.

_ Don’t say it out loud!  _ he hissed in her mind.

_ Something serious is going on,  _ she thought back, wincing slightly as she rubbed her knee where his claws had scraped through her black tights.  _ Obviously. _

_ But is it good or bad?  _

_ I don’t know...Bad? But, how can that be, when Mrs. Coulter is so nice to us? _

_ See if it’ll tell us anything else. _

She tried, but the alethiometer, it seemed, sometimes had a limit to what it wanted to tell her. In some ways it felt like Mrs. Coulter, getting tired of her constantly asking questions and thus answering briefly and curtly to her when she continued to press.

_ Be strong,  _ it said again.  _ Focus on the task ahead of you,  _ it offered several tries later.

“Ugh!” Lyra couldn’t help but exclaim her frustration aloud as she slammed the machine roughly on her pillow. Pan shot into the air as a blue jay, jerking his head around anxiously, but Lyra simply threw the device uncovered back into her bag, dropped it on the floor and then turning over onto the bed face-first.

_ What are you doing?  _ Pan asked her, coming up beside her as a little hamster.

_ Moping,  _ she thought back. She was growing increasingly irritated with the alethiometer and what it did and did not choose to tell her. It spoke so clearly to her in Trollesund when it told her to go to Dr. Lanselius and the small little cabin by the sea. But when it came to the  _ important  _ things, like Mrs. Coulter and her uncle, it didn’t want to say anything to her save the little it  _ did  _ tell her about Mrs. Coulter hiding something and Lyra needing to be strong as they moved forward.

_ What’s the point of even having something if we can’t use it?  _ she pouted.

_ Maybe it’s just not the proper time to do so,  _ Pan offered. He always tried to be optimistic when she couldn’t be. Usually it was  _ Lyra  _ with the big dreams and high hopes and  _ Pan  _ to temper it down and bring her back down to reality. But at the moment, everything was mixed up, and Lyra didn’t know what to do. Her daemon felt that deeply now as he licked her elbow and huddled closer to her as she decided to drift off into sleep, having nothing better to do.

The trip took them almost two full days. It was miserable, really, with Mrs. Coulter being stuck in her  _ mood  _ and Lyra so irritated with the alethiometer that she refused to even look at it. So Lyra was left to wander the ship, and get lectured by Mrs. Coulter for annoying the crew. Lyra felt most comfortable with them, though. They were similar to her, she felt like, as they worked hard for their living and liked to have fun and tell stories when they had a spare moment. Lyra snuck down to the dock area to listen to them. There was a man with a squirrel daemon who went from story to story like lightning and had the most infectious laugh Lyra had ever heard. It was fun, to hear him share stories and hear the men howl in response. It was a far cry better than going back up to the common room with Mrs. Coulter, who toward the end of their trip asked Lyra to stay in her room since even just her  _ reading  _ in the chair next to her was distracting and annoying.

Mrs. Coulter’s attitude changed as soon as they were close to landing. There was a quiet knock on Lyra’s door before the woman opened it and let herself in.

“I didn’t  _ say  _ you could come in,” Lyra muttered to her. She was laying on her back kicking her legs around as she stared up at the ceiling. She expected to be reprimanded for her tone but instead felt the bed dip and turned to see the woman sitting down at the end of the bed.

“We’ll be landing shortly,” Mrs. Coulter said gently, gazing at Lyra with that  _ look  _ she’d seen so many times before. Lyra twisted around so that she could see her properly now, as she’d previously been looking at her from a semi-upside down state. “And there are some things we should probably talk about.”

“What?” 

“Can you sit up first?” After slight hesitation, Lyra sighed and obeyed. Pan came out from his spot on the pillow, yawning wide.

“What’s happening, Mrs. Coulter?”

"We'll be landing soon in front of a special building," Mrs. Coulter explained, pausing to bite her lip now. "Asriel's research lab." 

A million questions burst into Lyra's mind at that moment. Her uncle's research lab? In Svalbard? She didn't even know he had an actual lab stationed there. Was that where he'd been when he returned to Jordan? Was that where he was planning to return? What was he doing there? Just what was it they'd be stumbling upon when they landed? 

"We'll find out more when we get there," Mrs. Coulter sighed after Lyra had sputtered out all of those and a few more she'd thought of. "But I just wanted you to be prepared. We don't know what we're going to find." 

"I understand," said Lyra, still thoughtful as she swung her legs around to sit next to Mrs. Coulter on the bed. They both sat in peaceable enough silence for a while, their daemons chattering softly as they stared in front of them. 

"Are you excited to see his lab, Lyra?" Mrs. Coulter asked after a while. 

Was Lyra excited? She didn't entirely know. "Excited" might not be the proper term. Lyra knew whatever they found there would be important. She also felt, although she wouldn't be able to verify it for a while, that the alethiometer was somehow guiding her to this place at this moment in time. It made sense for to end up in the furthest place north where her uncle had been. That seemed the most fitting of places to be, and seemed very promising for figuring out more about what happened to him. Especially if that's the last place he was prior to his "accident."

"I'm just… Ready for it, I guess," Lyra finally responded, turning to look at Mrs. Coulter. The woman shifted her eyes to take in Lyra's. Her blue depths were completely unreadable. 

"Good," she said, standing up. "Go ahead and pack your things now. We'll be getting off the ship in just a few minutes."

The lab was unlike any other piece of architecture Lyra had ever seen. It was built into the mountain itself, which didn't seem possible. It was a strong and commanding building that was half built of glass. Lyra had seen some observatories in London and around Oxford built like that, and she marveled as they grew closer, her hand nestled comfortably in Mrs. Coulter's. 

Once inside, an even greater surprise greeted them: Thorold. 

"Hello, Little Lyra," he said in his low voice as he saw her enter. Thorold was a tall, elderly bald man with a pinscher daemon and very kind, green eyes. He was her Uncle Asriel's servant for as long as Lyra could remember. He'd accompanied her uncle back to Jordan whenever he'd arrive, and had spent some time with Lyra before. He was always kind and attentive to Lyra, making sure she was well cared for and happy and had everything she needed. Lyra felt emotional now, then, as she ran into the man's arms and hugged him tightly. She felt probably the closest she ever could to being reunited with a family member. 

"Thorold," said Mrs. Coulter, following Lyra into the main entryway and nodding politely to the man. He nodded back, but Lyra noticed something flash in his eyes upon seeing her. Pan caught it, too, and fluttered closer in his raven form. 

_ Does he know her?  _ he wondered.  _ Remember Mrs. Coulter saying she knew Uncle Asriel when they were younger?  _

Lyra did, vaguely, but she wasn't concerned about that right now. She was worried as she wasn't sure what Thorold was doing here, and if he even knew what had happened. And she wondered if  _ she  _ had to be the one to tell him, and her heart twisted at the thought as she reached for Pan and felt herself almost shrink entirely to the floor.

"Lyra, Thorold and I need to talk for a few minutes," Mrs. Coulter said then. Lyra looked up at her and let out the breath she didn't realize she was holding. She wasn't sure if Mrs. Coulter noticed how Lyra had staggered, but she was grateful nonetheless. "How about you go up those stairs? It looks like there's a workbench of sorts."

"But be careful, Lyra," Thorold added, taking her arm and walking her toward the spiral staircase. His grip was light and he patted her shoulder affectionately. "Some things poke out in ways they shouldn't. Gotta keep your eye out."

"Okay," was all Lyra said, looking back at Mrs. Coulter as she ascended the stairs. The woman smiled at her but it didn't reach her eyes. In a way, she looked dull and listless, with no familiar sparkle or zest to her. 

"Something weird is happening," Pan whispered from her shoulder.

"I know," she returned, "but I don't know  _ what.  _ And the alethiometer didn't say. How are we supposed to find out?" 

"Dunno, but look at all of this!" 

As they reached the end of the stairs, Lyra took in all of the gadgets and instruments lined up and scattered across tables all around her. Piles of them flickered at her from the dim naphtha lighting. She went over to the nearest group and picked up what looked like a screwdriver but, upon closer inspection, opened up to become something else entirely. 

"What is all this stuff?" she murmured aloud, walking along the benches and trailing her finger against various objects. 

"Be careful!" Pan cawed at her as her hand neared a particularly-sharp looking object. 

"Just look at all of it," she breathed. These objects all belonged to her uncle. He'd been here who knows how long, tinkering with instruments on his adventures and in his experiments. He'd always told her about his work and how his job was essentially "learning how to figure stuff out," but actually  _ seeing _ it now felt more impressive. 

She paused by what appeared to be a pair of goggles. It had a healthy layer of dust on them as Lyra picked them up. There was a little light on top. Very slowly, she slipped it on and adjusted the belt along the back of her head. Then she looked down at a random object and clicked the light on. She saw it brightly and clearly, as if the sun itself was shining down on it. 

"I miss him," she said suddenly, taking in the overwhelming  _ feel  _ and presence of him here knowing very well this was all that was left of him. Lyra felt herself sniff as Pan flew over to her, pecking at her finger gingerly. 

"I know you do," he told her, and they stood there together beaming the light down at the bench trying to distract themselves from their feelings as Mrs. Coulter and Thorold talked below. 

After another ten or so minutes, Lyra heard light, heeled footsteps come up behind her. 

"What are you up to?" Mrs. Coulter called softly. 

Lyra turned around to look at her, the goggles still hanging on her head and the light blaring directly at Mrs. Coulter. The woman's eyes squinted as she put up a hand to shield herself. A small laugh escaped her then—light and warm, as it usually was. That reassured Lyra as the woman came closer and asked her to turn the light off. 

"It was my uncle's," Lyra proclaimed once Mrs. Coulter was standing next to her. 

"I see that. All of this was."

"Who owns this stuff now, anyway?" The thought had never occurred to her before. Uncle Asriel didn't have any other family besides her, so…did  _ she  _ own everything now? Was that a thing? Was it rude to ask? 

Something flickered across Mrs. Coulter's face just then. Discomfort. Anxiousness. Disappointment. "I don't know, Lyra, but I need to talk to you about something."

"What?" Lyra asked, resuming her examination of all the devices. She'd switched to a second bench now, and she heard Mrs. Coulter sigh before following her over. 

It was silent a moment before Mrs. Coulter continued. 

“I have to go now, Lyra,” said Mrs. Coulter then, her voice uncharacteristically high-pitched.

“Oh?” Lyra said distractingly after a few beats, looking intently at a little silver instrument with wings on it. There was  _ so  _ much here in her uncle’s lab. She could spend a lifetime trying to examine every object and figure everything out. “We just got here! When will we be back?”

“You’re misunderstanding me, dear.” Lyra felt a gentle tug on her hand and then turned to see Mrs. Coulter bent down to stare at her at eye-level. Her eyes were pooling with an emotion Lyra couldn’t even begin to describe.  _ “I  _ have to go, but  _ you  _ are staying here.”

“What?” Lyra simply stared at her, blinking. Pan fluttered his raven wings from his place on the bench, crooking his head to the side.

“I have to go now,” Mrs. Coulter repeated. Her voice was still strange, sounding almost haggard now as she reached to brush her fingers lightly across Lyra’s jaw. “You need to be good for Thorold.”

“You’re leaving me with Thorold?” Lyra squeaked, her eyes widening. Her heart began to beat faster as she started to comprehend what, exactly, it was Mrs. Coulter was telling her.

“Yes.” The woman’s voice was low and sad. She wasn’t lying, or joking, or hiding anything in this moment. She was telling the truth. And suddenly, Mrs. Coulter’s range of emotions throughout their journey together seemed to make sense.

At first Mrs. Coulter had been kind and happy as she’d been during the first few weeks Lyra had known her. They’d chatted excitedly about the North and about Trollesund, and then critically discussed and debated the food and the traders and anything else they could think of. But Mrs. Coulter pulled away from her once they’d gotten on that second zeppelin. Lyra physically and emotionally felt it as it’d happened. She figured Mrs. Coulter was just busy or upset about something, but it made sense now.

Mrs. Coulter had been planning this all along. She was getting rid of Lyra once and for all because she couldn’t stand to be with her anymore.

“I’m coming back,” Mrs. Coulter clarified after Lyra wailed and threw herself against her, punching Mrs. Coulter with weak fists as the woman held her tightly in return. 

"You're not!" 

“I am. I promise you, Lyra. I’m coming back. This is only temporary.”

“It isn’t!” Lyra cried, her sobs shaking her so greatly that she couldn’t stay still. “You can’t leave me here, Mrs. Coulter. You  _ promised  _ you’d never leave me. You said you’d stay with me.”

“I’m sorry.” Mrs. Coulter pressed her forehead against Lyra’s just then, her scent wafting all around Lyra. It was sweet and spicy, as she’d grown accustomed to. Mrs. Coulter’s touch was so soft and so comforting against her. It was enough to calm her down and still her thrashing. Lyra could just cry again, thinking about how much she’d taken this all for granted. “But I have to go. And I  _ will  _ be back, Lyra.”

“Why can’t I come with you?” Lyra pulled away to gaze at her again, tears still staining her cheeks. Pan was a golden retriever on the ground now, pressed up close against her. 

“You wouldn’t understand,” Mrs. Coulter said, looking away. Her chest heaved as she let out a little cry herself. The golden monkey let out a small moan, too. It looked painful for them, Lyra observed. So why was she doing this? What was going on?

As Lyra had been asking all this time: what was Mrs. Coulter hiding?

“Try me,” Lyra insisted, fire back in her eyes now as she stomped her foot. She also realized she was stalling at this point, trying to keep Mrs. Coulter with her as long as she could. “I’m  _ not _ just some stupid little kid. Tell me!”

“Of course you’re not.” Mrs. Coulter’s own face grew fiercer as she grabbed Lyra’s chin and pulled her face to look at her. “Don’t ever say that about yourself, or ever think that you are. You’re extraordinary, Lyra Belacqua.”

“Then why can’t I come with you?”

It was a question that evidently neither of them could handle at that moment. Pain flashed across the woman’s eyes as she took in a shuddering breath. Pan let out a low whine for his part. He reached out to butt his head against Mrs. Coulter’s hand, as he'd done occasionally during their time together during moments of affection but now out of desperation. Both Lyra and Mrs. Coulter gasped, as they had that very first time. Mrs. Coulter let out a strangled sound herself before closing her eyes and pulling away from the both of them.

“I’ll return when I can,” she said stiffly then, snapping her fingers to the golden monkey and turning around. 

"Wait!" Lyra called, finding herself following the woman helplessly through the crammed laboratory. "Mrs. Coulter!  _ Wait!"  _

"Be good for Thorold now."

"So that's it, then?" Mrs. Coulter stopped at that, not quite at the door. "This is what you're gonna do? I thought you loved me!" 

Silence and a thick, overwhelming tension filled the air. 

"I do," was the terse response. Mrs. Coulter turned around, her eyes rounded with some sort of feeling caught between anger, regret, and fear. "Goodbye, Lyra. Don't make this harder for yourself than it needs to be. I  _ will  _ be back." 

  
_ Be strong,  _ the alethiometer had told her, Lyra remembered with a sniff as she watched Mrs. Coulter open and then close the door behind her. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just need y'all to know that we've been working toward this inevitable separation for quite some while, so obviously I was bracing for it, but it still hurt very much to write the end of this chapter T_T I also thought really hard about whose POV to write this from. Lyra's was the one that made the most sense in my head. Seeing this as Lyra does is extra emotional, I think, as children feel things sometimes more intensely than we even give them credit for.
> 
> Anyway, there is still MUCH action to come, as we're really only just getting started. Thanks so much for reading!


	16. Expression

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mrs. Coulter returns to her work at the Station and must start coming to terms with her feelings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Discusses the work with children at the Station, so be prepared for that. This chapter is a bit darker because of that and dances around the issues of child severing, as well as discusses children dying from the operation. Just wanted to give you a heads up!

Mrs. Coulter walked so fast to the zeppelin that her daemon had to sprint to keep up with her.

“Marisa,” he said to her, jumping up lightly onto the railings of the boarding ladder. He balanced on the silver and peered up at her intently as she sped by. “Marisa.”

She ignored him as she made her way inside, pausing just inside the door to turn to one of the attendants. “Pack it up and get us in the air," she instructed. " _ Now.  _ I want us there as soon as humanly possible. _ ” _

“Marisa!” her daemon called, leaping off the railing and practically stepping onto her feet as he circled her and tugged at the helm of her coat. 

“Get  _ off _ !” She kicked him— _ hard.  _ It hurt her too, of course, and she breathed in sharply and winced as he scampered off to the corner of the common room, glancing up at her with that  _ look  _ on his face. Always that sad, tortured look. That damaged child she never could escape. 

_ We have to talk about it,  _ he insisted. He grunted softly as he sat down, curling his tail up around his body.

_ No.  _ She sunk into the armchair nearest the door, closing her eyes and crossing her arms.

She didn’t want to talk about it. Not yet, at any rate. Mrs. Coulter wasn’t very good with processing things. She’d learned that at an early age when her grandmother had died unexpectedly. Her grandmother was someone she actually  _ liked,  _ which was saying something given the volatile relationship she had with her family. She didn’t act in the way most grieving children acted, though, as she’d kept herself busy and pretended not to care. Marcel had cried and cried for days on end and slept in their mother’s bed at night, but Marisa was perfectly calm and collected. So it didn’t surprise her now, then, for her to reach down and grab one of her books to read on their way to the Station:  _ Particles of Air and Earth. _

It was all too much to process—with Lyra, but also with Thorold.

She had been correct that he would be there at the laboratory. It was Thorold’s place to stay in the North when Asriel was actively researching and traveling. That much Marisa remembered. And there he had been, surprised at their arrival but receiving them kindly nonetheless as they showed up completely out of the blue with a very big request.

“Thorold,” she had said to him once Lyra was out of earshot, although softly this time. The old man looked over at her, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly.

“He’s not coming back, is he?”

“No,” she replied, her voice feeling tight.

“Is he alright?”

Mrs. Coulter’s mouth twisted as she gazed at him. Thorold. He was such a kind man. He’d put up with the Belacqua family and their drama for his entire life, having been born into their line of servants. His father had cared for Asriel’s father, and so the tradition continued with Asriel. And Mrs. Coulter could only imagine that Asriel hadn’t been the easiest charge, if he was as stubborn and reckless as a boy as he had been a man.

“Oh, Thorold,” she simply offered, watching the grown man’s eyes pool before he looked away, putting a hand out to scratch his daemon’s head. The dog whimpered quietly as she butted her head against his palm and as tears started to fall from his eyes. Mrs. Coulter reached forward then, grasping his arm. He didn’t look at her, but he didn’t pull away.

“What happened?”

“Heart attack.” His head whipped up at that, eyes flashing. 

“He didn’t hav—”

“I know, Thorold,” she interrupted, biting her lip. That _hysteria_ was back, threatening to consume her. It was the same one she'd felt while sitting with Lyra at the funeral. She hadn’t expected it to hit her this hard _now_ again, though. She was usually skillful at compartmentalizing her emotions, as Father MacPhail told her time and time again. And it had been quite a few months at this point. But today was just meant to be a difficult day, it seemed. Everything was out in the open. “I’m looking into it.”

“You are?” His voice was small, as if he were a child. Her gaze swiveled to meet his. There was still a hardness there, as she expected since the last time they’d seen each other none of them had been on the best of terms. But she also saw a glimmer of trust there, too. It was small, but she had to hope it would be enough.

_ And if it’s not,  _ the monkey had drawled in the back of her brain,  _ and if this goes badly…  _

“I am," she said to him, reaching to take his hand. He continued to stare sternly yet hopefully up at her. "And that’s why I need your help. With  _ Lyra _ . Our Lyra.”

Sitting there on the zeppelin now, though, Mrs. Coulter could barely breathe. She allowed herself to  _ feel  _ it for a moment—just one moment. Her mind raced back to Lyra's face as she told her she was leaving and that Lyra was staying. Her hands felt Lyra pulling for her, and her waist felt Lyra clinging and punching at her; her cheeks still felt the tears that had escaped from her eyes as she turned away from the girl and headed down the stairs. She felt it all so viscerally. 

It had to be done, though. Mrs. Coulter opened her eyes and stared intently at the glass coffee table, her fingers lightly tracing the cover of her book. They were on their way to the Station now and would arrive in a few hours. It wasn't terribly far by air, as the building was set at the very edge of the continent before Svalbard. Once there, she’d have maybe three weeks to figure out what was happening with the experiments and improve them in time for the new batch of children to arrive by sea. She needed every single day and every single second in order to do that, even if that meant leaving Lyra. And she could do it. She was so close with her calculations and her staff members’ advances. It was only a matter of time, which would hopefully be quick. 

Besides, this was completely normal, Mrs. Coulter decided. She opened her book and skipped to the chapter on visual properties of particles. Mothers left their children all the time for work, for vacation, for various other reasons. This wasn't anything out of the ordinary. It was to be expected.

_ Except she doesn't know you're her mother,  _ the monkey spat at her, now fuming in his corner,  _ and she lost the only parental figure she ever had and now feels like she's losing another one. Plus she very desperately asked to go with you and you refused her.  _

Lock it all away, Mrs. Coulter told herself, pushing the monkey as far out of her mind as she was able. She gritted her teeth and leaned closer to her book, scanning the first few paragraphs of the chapter. She was going to lock this away so she could get on with her work, figure out how to solve her problem, and then return to Lyra where things could go back to the way they were...or at least  _ close _ to it. It was the only option she had now, really. She had to live with it.

Her arrival back at the station felt anticlimactic and absolutely boring. 

"Greetings, Mrs. Coulter," Dr. Cooper said to her, pacing alongside Mrs. Coulter as she entered the facility. Dr. Rendal was with her, too,  _ hovering  _ and following Dr. Cooper’s lead. "Did you have a good trip?" 

"It was fine," Mrs. Coulter said, coming to an abrupt halt and turning to face them. "Let me see the machine."

"Oh,” said the lead scientist, pausing briefly before adjusting her glasses. “Wouldn't you, um, like to get settled in first? We’ve had your room prepared for you, and there should be dinner in the canteen. They’re having stew." 

" _ Let me see the machine." _

They were all scared of her. Mrs. Coulter had always known that. Dr. Cooper was one of the first scientists she had hired: a bright woman from Oxford who supposedly was one of the best scientists-turned-engineers that the Magisterium could find. Dr. Rendal, too, hailed from closer to home in London, having received his doctorate from University College London and, before that, having worked as a medical doctor on the edge of human consciousness research. So promising, the pair of them, yet so  _ disappointing  _ in the preliminary results they were seeing. As they hurried her off to the back of the building, mumbling about the chambers and the fritz of the blade, Mrs. Coulter started wondering why she even hired them at all if she had to do all the work herself. 

"It's currently just too, er,  _ harsh  _ for the children, we think.” Dr. Rendal was walking her through the equipment while Dr. Cooper explained the process from over in the control room, her voice blaring out to them on the PA system. They were being quite thorough while also embellishing some of the progress they’ve made.

“Harsh in what way?” Mrs. Coulter asked, stretching out to place a few fingers on the blade. It was a very special blade made with the most curious of steel. Only a few of such steel existed in the world, as the people who made them historically didn’t produce too much in fear of what it could do. This blade, cut from a sample of said steel, could cut through the more fine particles and matter, including those between human and daemon. And that, of course, was crucial for measuring Dust.

“The reaction that occurs afterwards is too hard on their bodies,” Dr. Rendal continued. He looked a bit nervous as he explained it, as he was visibly sweating. He stuttered a bit, too. “I’ve tried tracking the vitals of the most recent few, and it’s just too much. Their—their hearts give out on them. Or else their brains are too stimulated”

“Interesting.” Marisa removed her hands and went over to the space inside of the unit. “Are the mesh cages working well?”

“Oh, yes,” Dr. Rendal insisted. “That part has evolved quite nicely. We just need to, well, the actual  _ cutting  _ needs some work.”

“Then work on it.” Mrs. Coulter tossed him a stern look then, one she typically reserved for Lyra but that seemed appropriate now with him. “Recalibrate the velocity of the swing. Design some more models. Run some more tests. I’m going to do some more work with the children themselves, and I expect you to do your own part.”

_ It’s alright to feel upset,  _ her daemon thought to her after she spent time with the children throughout the rest of the day. She talked with them in their dormitories and in the play areas, learning more about their pathetic little lives and hearing more about their daemons. She had them separated by gender and by age and took special interest in those closest to puberty, who were around twelve or so.  _ Lyra’s age,  _ Mrs. Coulter remembered before hastily clearing her mind. Lyra wasn’t relevant right now. And besides, she was still young. She was only eleven. She was still a little girl through and through.

They’d had a long day and were settled into bed, Mrs. Coulter changed into one of her favorite silk nightgowns. She had another book in her hands as she tried to read up a little bit more about the psychological development of children, and how it related to emotionally bonding with their daemons. 

“I’m not upset,” she insisted to her daemon, skimming an utterly  _ horrible  _ figure the author had included that made no sense at all. These scientists  _ always  _ included such atrocious figures. None of them seemed to understand what their charts and figures were even supposed to do. 

_ You miss Lyra.  _ Mrs. Coulter froze as he said that, pausing mid-page-flip.  _ You want to be with her and you feel guilty for being with these other children. _

“No, I don’t,” she said slowly, aware of her breathing picking up in a way that was  _ dangerously  _ close to becoming overwhelming.

_ You’ve softened since you started this work,  _ he went on, inching closing to her.  _ It’s not the same for you. _

“It’s still important,” she mumbled. She went back to reading about neurotransmitters. “I haven’t lost focus. It’ll change the world.”

“Why are you denying it?” He spoke aloud now as he hopped onto the bed from his place on the floor. Mrs. Coulter winced as she felt the small dip of the bed. “Look at me, Marisa.”

She did, in spite of herself, and she  _ felt  _ it again as she looked into his beady black eyes. She felt the anguish of taking Lyra along all this way knowing very well she was only going to leave her. She felt her happiness in seeing Lyra run around Trollesund and meet new people and try new things, and she felt the frustration of Lyra’s incessant chatter and banter on the zeppelin when she was trying to do her work. But most of all, she felt the agony of when Lyra had looked into her eyes and asked her why she couldn’t come with her.

Mrs. Coulter felt it all, and she didn’t want to. 

It was easier to pretend she didn’t care. Throwing the book back on the nightstand and shutting the light off, Mrs. Coulter laid down on her side and pulled the bedcovers over her, knocking the golden monkey off balance as she did so. If she prevented herself from really  _ feeling  _ and letting it sink in, then it didn’t hurt as much. It was more digestible. It was bearable. She’d spent the better part of eleven years operating that way, so she supposed it was that which made her so desperately try and resume her routine, even if everything truly _ had _ changed and nothing about this was even remotely the same. 

The next few days were lost in a flurry of activity. Mrs. Coulter kept herself busy morning, noon, and night. If she wasn’t reading about the most advanced methods in experimental theology or writing out her calculations, she was interviewing the children to learn more about their experiences. She was keenly aware that they only had a few more children left at this point, as the others had already been tested. The children were aware of this, too.

“Where did all the other kids go?” one of them asked her one day as she sat on the bed with her reading a story. Mrs. Coulter was trying to measure the girl’s empathy, tracking how the child responded to the characters in the story and the events that transpired. She had an untested and unproven theory that empathy in children correlated strongly with their connection to their daemons. She thus wondered if, somehow,  _ less  _ empathetic children would fare better in the severing process. Maybe they wouldn't feel the anguish as much, and it wouldn't override their senses. She had no idea, and it sort of felt ridiculous to even think, but she had to try everything she could possibly think of.

“They went off to another place,” Mrs. Coulter sang, smiling and pointing toward the book again. “A place for older children.”

“Not everyone believes that, you know,” the girl whispered. She looked shyly up at Mrs. Coulter then, as if not sure whether or not to continue.

“What do you mean?” The golden monkey was with the child’s daemon, currently in the form of a small, fuzzy squirrel. He tensed, too, and angled his ears toward them. 

“They think something bad happens to the kids,” the girl continued, brown eyes wide and so strikingly innocent as they gazed up at Mrs. Coulter. “Is that true?”

“Of course it isn’t.” Mrs. Coulter bent down to tuck a loose string of hair behind the girl’s ear.  _ The same as with Lyra,  _ Mrs. Coulter thought vaguely, squirming slightly as she tried to soothe the girl. “Don’t let the other children scare you. It seems like they’re just making up stories. How about we finish this book now, and then we head over to the canteen?”

_ Tell me that didn’t make you uncomfortable,  _ the monkey pressed as she later made her way back to her office, arms filled with papers and books and research instruments. 

_ I’m fine,  _ Mrs. Coulter retorted, taking a seat at her desk and then opening her journal. She started jotting down some notes about the children she’d seen today when the monkey jumped up on the table to glare at her.

“Marisa!” he hissed, bearing his fangs. “Stop  _ avoiding  _ this!”

“What do you care, anyway?” Mrs. Coulter finally spat at him, practically snarling herself as she moved to consider him. “This is what you wanted, wasn’t it? To finally get rid of her and go back to our work?”

“No!” he retorted. “Well, I don’t know. I certainly didn't think it would work out, but I don’t want you to be  _ unhappy. _ You’re so upset right now, Marisa. And it  _ hurts  _ how you don’t dare to admit it.”

“I don’t have time for this right now,” Mrs. Coulter growled, pushing him away as she turned back to her notebook. “I have too much to do and I need to focus.”

“You can’t work your way through this one,” the monkey tossed back over his shoulder as he climbed down. “Try as hard you might, Marisa, but this is different. And as I’ve been saying all along, you are _in over your head_ with the girl _._ You can't keep playing these games. The sooner you admit that to yourself, then the sooner we can figure out what we can do.”

She shut him out of her bedroom that night. She closed the door to the closet while he was still in there and let him pound on the door for a few minutes before he gave up. It wasn’t the first time she’d done this, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. But it somehow felt extraordinarily lonely as Mrs. Coulter laid there by herself, hearing her own thoughts more clearly than when the two of them were physically closer together. She realized in that moment what she was missing was her daemon’s closeness, perhaps, but also Lyra.

She  _ did  _ miss Lyra. More than she was able to comfortably admit not even to the monkey but also to herself. What was Lyra thinking at this moment, Mrs. Coulter wondered? How was she feeling? Would she be alright? Would she ever be able to forgive her, for all that she's done? 

The next day as Mrs. Coulter was working in her office, she received a note. 

“For you, ma’am,” said one of the staff members, his eyes characteristically blank and dull as he handed her an envelope, bowed, and then walked away.

“What could this be?” she wondered, grabbing a nearby paper knife and breaking the seal. She sensed the golden monkey lurking near her but not coming any closer, still sensitive and wary after their confrontation. She still felt his burning curiosity, however.

It was a letter from Father MacPhail. The Magisterium stamp and mark was there, unmistakable. 

_ What does he want?  _ her daemon couldn’t help but think to her. He was suspicious. 

“We’ll see,” she sighed, and she felt herself growing increasingly anxious.

_ There has been a change in plans,  _ the note began, and Mrs. Coulter felt a slow rush of adrenaline begin to course through her.  _ There is increased activity among the Oxford Gyptians. They are gathering in the Zaal to discuss a plan of action. We have much to talk about and decide. You are to make your advances and then pause until the new children arrive. Wait for more word from me, and be careful. Do not take any outside visitors and keep your guard up.  _

“Just perfect,” she muttered, taking the note and crumpling it up in her hands. She heard the monkey growl, low in his throat, and she couldn't help but agree with him as she took the paper and tossed it into the fireplace, watching it burn. 

That damn kitchen boy must have fled straight to the Gyptians. She'd expected he would, but she didn't expect them to move so  _ fast,  _ or to make a move at all. 

"What you did wasn't wise," the monkey said to her, voice even, "but it's workable. We can figure a way through this."

"Do you really think that?" she asked him, watching the paper gradually blacken and disintegrate and feeling the warmth of the flames as they hit her face. 

"I do," he said, and he sounded so incredibly tired. "But we have no more margin for error, Marisa. This is it."

"This is it," she repeated, eyes still trained on the fire. "This is really it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mrs. Coulters *feelings* y'all. All the feels! And her work. It's crunch time now. Next chapter we will be returning to Lyra and Thorold, which I'm excited about, too :) Thanks for reading!


	17. Solidifying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Lyra stays with Thorold and tries to make sense of what is happening, she makes an important discovery.

**CHAPTER 17**

**Solidifying**

****

Lyra kept staring at the door long after Mrs. Coulter left the laboratory.

She felt frozen to the spot in a way she couldn't quite explain. It was like she couldn't move, as much as she wanted to. Her legs wouldn't allow her; she didn't even _feel_ them as she simply stood there, rooted in and across time. She'd felt this way exactly once before almost four months ago, when the Master of Jordan College sat down beside Lyra on her bed and told her that her uncle had died. He'd said it gently and kindly, but all Lyra could do was stare, her body feeling lifeless and listless as she took in the gravity of what had happened. 

It felt similarly to how she felt now, where all Lyra could do was gaze ahead of her and try to process what had just happened. 

_ She left,  _ she said to herself and to her daemon. Explicitly stating it like this was a way to verify it, a way to make it make sense in a way that it currently didn't.  _ She left me here. She knew it hurt me. But she left me.  _

_ Yes,  _ her daemon returned, still a golden retriever hovering by her feet. He moved to lick her hand, which had been dangling down near his neck. Lyra vaguely felt the gesture but couldn't get herself to return the embrace or acknowledge that it was happening. 

And then, quite suddenly, it  _ hit  _ her as a beacon of sunlight shined from the big glass window off to the left. She was at the door, banging against it even as she knew it wouldn't open and that it was too late. She cried out, knowing very well that even if it  _ did  _ open, she wouldn't be there on the other end to greet her.

_ She's gone,  _ she thought to Pan again, this time really  _ feeling  _ it as she moved to gaze out the window where the zeppelin had been. She’d seen Mrs. Coulter sprint onto the platform before it whirled up and then disappeared into the early-morning sky, not returning for quite some time (if it ever did). The scene was empty now, with only the swirling of the icy wind in view. It looked as cold as Lyra felt. 

_ I know,  _ he thought back, sharing in her despair for a moment. It was obvious to both of them that Lyra was more attached to Mrs. Coulter than Pan ever was. He liked her well enough and felt comfortable in her presence, but he still didn't entirely trust her. It just wasn't the same for him as it was for her, which Lyra didn’t understand but could respect. Even so, they both felt this loss quite acutely, perhaps as a direct result of what they'd gone through with Uncle Asriel. Oh, and to be  _ here _ , in Uncle Asriel's laboratory! She felt herself shrink as she leaned against the glass, staring out of it helplessly as if all she needed to do was wait long enough in order to see Mrs. Coulter materialize again and decide she wasn’t leaving after all. 

She felt so incredibly childish at that moment, but she couldn't help it. She didn't know how else to feel or what else to think. 

"Lyra," Thorold called, coming over to her. He'd held her back earlier as she initially tried to run after Mrs. Coulter, placing his hands gently yet firmly on her shoulders and shushing her as she thrashed her limbs and tried to leap away. He let her go once the zeppelin was off and had given her space afterwards, where she'd fallen into her current stupor. Lyra realized that was quite a while ago, as she'd just been staring at the door and out the window. Mrs. Coulter was likely far gone by now, off to wherever she was going.  _ Without  _ her. 

She turned to look at him then, trying her best to mask everything that she was feeling.

"Let me make you some tea," he offered. 

"I'm not thirsty," she replied. Her throat still felt tight and her eyes were still swollen. 

"Oh, Miss, it's been a long day," Thorold said. His voice was soft and kind. Tender, almost. "You've traveled very far, and it's very cold. May I please make you some tea? It'll help you feel better." 

Mrs. Coulter had always said that about tea. Chamomile in particular. Tea soothed the mind and lifted the spirits, she'd said. It made Lyra sad for a moment, wishing it was  _ Mrs. Coulter  _ who was offering her tea and caring about her hurt feelings instead of being the person  _ causing  _ them. And she felt her chest tighten again before she did her best to stomach it.  _ Be strong,  _ the alethiometer had told her. She felt the words reverberate through her mind. Now was the time to stay strong. 

So she agreed, sincerely hoping the tea would make her feel even a little less desolate as she did in this moment. Thorold moved quickly and thoroughly, heating the kettle on the little gas burner in the corner of the main room and then adding the teabags. He also fiddled in a little cabinet before procuring a small container of biscuits. Lyra watched as he transferred them to a little white plate before grabbing a couple of matching white mugs from a shelf above the stove. Once the tea was properly steeped, he poured Lyra a cup and then handed her the plate of cookies. 

"Oh, you like sugar, don't you?" he let out then, jumping off to go grab a small jar. Lyra tilted her head as he twisted off the lid and then dropped a spoonful of sugar into her mug. He stirred it and then pushed the cup back over to her. "There you are, little miss. It's been a while but I remember how you like it."

"Thanks," Lyra murmured, bringing the cup to her lips. It was hot and sweet, just the way she liked it. It was good. For a moment she felt light, and could only focus on the flavor making its way through her system. She sipped it again, and then again. Pan remained by her feet as a golden retriever, chittering softly with Anfang. 

"Do you feel better?" 

"Yeah," Lyra lied, although it didn't exactly  _ feel  _ like a lie as she did feel warmer and enjoyed the flavor. She hadn't realized how cold she'd been from the airship and outside in the arctic.  _ And in her soul.  _ “Thank you, Thorold.”

“My goodness, Lyra. It’s been ages since I’ve last seen you. You look so grown-up.”

Lyra felt more grown-up, too, she thought, offering him one of those soft smiles Mrs. Coulter had taught her. She wasn’t the same girl she was four  _ months  _ ago let alone two whole  _ years _ ago. So much had changed and had happened, chief among them moving in with Mrs. Coulter and acquiring the alethiometer.

_ The alethiometer!  _ she and Pan thought together in unison. Lyra brightened suddenly at that. It was like a light had been switched on. Her mind felt clearer as she realized she had a way to move forward and get answers: she could consult the alethiometer. Of course, the device was perhaps a bit finicky with her as of late, but she still had a chance of learning more about what was going on. It was something to focus on and that she could busy herself with. 

So she sat through tea with Thorold, answering his questions politely before he brought up the topic of Mrs. Coulter herself and everything seemed to stop.

"Who is Mrs. Coulter to you?" Thorold asked carefully. Pan looked up from Lyra's lap at him, tilting his little ermine head. The man looked nervous, almost, which felt a little strange. What did he have to be nervous about, Lyra wondered?

"She's my caretaker," Lyra said slowly. Part of her wondered what he and Mrs. Coulter had talked about when she had run up the stairs upon their arrival. She assumed she told him about Uncle Asriel, and she got the impression that the two of  _ them  _ knew each other (which wouldn't make sense, really). But how much did he know about their arrangement? "She took me in after Uncle Asriel died."

The man winced at the casual mention, and Lyra felt bad. She remembered that this was still new to him, and that he'd somehow been expecting Uncle Asriel to return. She had to remember to be gentler about it. She had to be  _ delicate,  _ as Mrs. Coulter would say. "How very kind of her. What did she...say about it?" 

"That she was lonely and could use an assistant for when she goes to the North." Thorold's eyes widened and then narrowed as he listened. "And then she takes me all the way here and just  _ leaves  _ me." 

Her voice cracked at that. Once she said it out loud, it felt so much worse. She'd waited for  _ months  _ to accompany Mrs. Coulter to the North, both in terms of her travels but now to figure out what happened to Uncle Asriel. She’d learned calculations and helped Mrs. Coulter pick out all their clothing and everything else in between. She’d waited so  _ patiently _ , not pressing too hard or asking too many questions. And now it was finally here and it was all going completely wrong.

"She—I'm sure it was very hard for her to do, miss," Thorold offered, looking distressed. His daemon whimpered slightly, Pan noticed. "Especially after having just gotten you back."

It took Lyra a moment to notice what he'd said, but she stopped mid-sip of tea once she did. "Gotten me back?" she repeated. Pan jumped up onto the table at that, peering at Thorold in his cat form now. "What does that mean?" 

It was so strange, the way Thorold's face twisted and his foot stomped lightly as if he'd cursed himself. Lyra suddenly got the impression that he'd said something he didn't mean to, and that made her curious as well as worried. "What do you mean, Thorold?" she pressed again. "Won't you tell me?" 

He fluffed it off, apologizing for his slip and focusing instead on what Lyra had been studying and what she wanted to be when she got older. It still felt odd to Lyra. She went with it, though, as she knew she was supposed to. But she didn’t forget about it. In fact, after she’d finished her tea and Thorold showed her over to her uncle’s old room where she could lie down to rest, Lyra consulted Pan about it.

“What was  _ that?”  _ she breathed to him once they were alone. Pan hopped onto the bed as a red panda, sniffing at the blanket and the pillows before turning his chubby face to stare at her.

“I dunno,” he said, “but it was weird. I asked Anfang about it but she didn’t tell me anything. I think they’re hiding something, Lyra.”

“Everyone is hiding something from us.” Lyra felt tears pool in her eyes again now as she sat down on the bed, surprised at its softness and comfort it held. 

That’s how it felt to her, at any rate. From the moment her uncle died so many things felt shrouded in mystery: what happened to him, how she was supposed to read the alethiometer, who she was supposed to trust, what Mrs. Coulter was doing, where she went, etc. None of it made any sense; Lyra felt so confused and so utterly  _ alone. _

“We have Thorold,” Pan offered, settling down next to her on the pillow. He yawned lightly as she rested her head back, still surprised at how comfortable the bed was. This laboratory was quite nice, Lyra couldn’t help but notice. She understood that her uncle had it built as part of his research here, but she didn’t realize such a setup would be so  _ nice.  _ She knew that the College gave him money and that housing and such naturally must be a thing people pay for, but it was still interesting to her to see how it all worked.

“I suppose,” she sighed, and she allowed herself to lay there a moment longer and stare up at the ceiling of the bedroom before she fished around in her bag and pulled out the alethiometer.

"Tell me where she is," she asked the machine aloud as she moved the dials, a familiar movement to her now as the instrument clicked into place and she gestured toward the Madonna for Mrs. Coulter, the ant for what she was doing, and the apple for why she left. It was a simple question, really. It was at the forefront of Lyra's mind, too, and she slipped into her trance-like state peaceably as she tucked herself under the covers of her uncle's bed and Pan sat diligently on her shoulder.

But the answer, as things had been lately, was  _ not  _ as simple. In fact, it was  _ infuriating  _ as it kept spitting the same answer to her as it had been for months on end: the Madonna, the baby, and the candle.

“I  _ know!”  _ Lyra all but shouted at it, giving it a little shake as a primal growl released from her throat. She  _ knew  _ that was the issue. Mrs. Coulter was hiding something from her. Something needed to be revealed to her. She didn’t  _ care  _ at this moment, though, and simply wanted to know where she was and what she was doing. Why couldn’t it tell her? Why was it being so difficult?

With a rush of impatience and overall moodiness, she asked it just that.

_ Because you’re not ready to know,  _ it said to her then. The answer came instantly to her, which was frustrating since the other answers took much longer to formalize.

“I am,” she puffed back to it, and she decided to ask it yet another question that, in a way, seemed to tell it that. She asked it:  _ how can I prove to you that I’m ready to hear this?  _ It took a few moments and then responded with the puzzling answer that she’d know and that the device would tell her. Lyra felt her eyes start drooping before she shoved it under the pillow and then slipped off into a restless doze, her mind filled with Mrs. Coulter’s face and her eyes and the tear she’d seen falling down before the woman had exited the lab.

The next few days were nothing short of melancholy, as Lyra moped about asking the alethiometer about Mrs. Coulter while concurrently asking it about Uncle Asriel. It was intriguing, how it seemed to speak and act so differently regarding the two people. With Mrs. Coulter it shut down almost completely, alternating between the same three msysterical symbols or else telling Lyra that she wasn’t ready. For Uncle Asriel, however, it was clearer. It told her most of what she wanted to know about him and his work, aided, Lyra thought, by their residence in his lab. 

She couldn't really understand it, of course, but Thorold did his best to help. 

"It's the particles we can't see," he told her as again she pressed on what he was looking for. "Dust" was a rather strange term. When she heard dust, she thought about the light stuff on all the furniture at Jordan that made her sneeze. Mrs. Coulter's flat never had any of it, but the College and even this laboratory was filled with it. It was unpleasant. 

But this was not the Dust that Thorold and apparently Uncle Asriel spoke of. She looked more closely at Uncle Asriel's diagrams and drawings to see detailed descriptions of them. She asked the alethiometer, too, which told her minimally about it: that it didn't affect children and it could be seen using a special instrument. Lyra got the impression that this was all it wanted her to know, and that it was perhaps what she was  _ supposed  _ to know.

It was the sort of information Lyra might have learned from her uncle herself if he hadn't died, and if she'd overheard a presentation he was prepared to give at Jordan.

Lyra felt calmer a few days further in as she learned this information as well as more about her uncle. Pan felt more at ease, too, and they both felt tired yet exhilarated one evening as they sat down on the sofa in the drawing room that overlooked the aurora and the mountain. They were looking through some of the books stuffed into the bookshelf, leafing through them and not being able to interpret their meanings. The light reflected on their faces as they pored over the artifacts until, finally, Lyra pulled out the alethiometer again.

_ Dust is important?  _ she posed to it, expecting the answer that immediately returned to her:  _ Yes. _

_ Is Dust part of the reason why Uncle Asriel died?  _ She was more nervous about this one, and she felt like the alethiometer understood this. It took longer to answer her, but after a few whirls around the symbols and some sticking back and forth, it confirmed:  _ Yes. Mainly what he could do in the future with it. _

A future with Uncle Asriel in it. Lyra stopped for a moment to consider it. He wouldn’t have died of his heart attack (or whatever it really was). He’d still be strong and healthy; he’d have given his presentation, gotten his money, gone back to the North, and maybe even have taken her with him. She’d have wanted him to, at any rate, and would have begged and pleaded and been terribly upset if (when) he wouldn’t.

Lyra knew that he never would have. He’d said it time and time again to her: the North was no place for a child. It was cruel. It wasn't safe. It wasn't what it was cracker up to be. Yet here she was now, in  _ his  _ laboratory staring out at  _ his  _ mountain at the Northern Lights  _ he’d _ dedicated his life to. Without him. And without Mrs. Coulter. 

Lyra also supposed she wouldn’t have met Mrs. Coulter if Uncle Asriel hadn't died. How could she have, if there was no funeral for her to have attended and then if she and Lyra hadn’t connected over the joint grief and sense of loneliness? Lyra rather enjoyed her time with Mrs. Coulter in London. Pan got impatient sometimes, and Lyra didn’t always like the things Mrs. Coulter made her do and try, but it was nice. Mrs. Coulter cared for her, and  _ about  _ her. She was pleasant. She was fun. She was the kind of mother figure Lyra had always dreamed of.

It thus hurt so much, for Mrs. Coulter to be away from her now and to be hiding something from her. Lyra felt this familiar sadness, but also a certain hardening now, too.  _ She  _ was the one entrusted with the alethiometer. The Master gave it to  _ her,  _ so  _ she  _ was responsible. She wasn’t some stupid little girl. As Mrs. Coulter herself had said, she was nothing short of extraordinary. And the alethiometer  _ had  _ to be able to see that.

“I’m ready,” she murmured aloud to herself. Pan looked up from the floor, where’d been dozing as a polecat. He yawned lightly before getting up and jumping into the chair with her, looking down at the device as she spun the dials.

“What is she hiding?” Lyra asked it firmly. With a flicker of thought, she decided to spit the same symbols back at it: the Madonna, the baby, and the candle. “Tell me what she's hiding.”

Lyra couldn’t explain the feeling she had then as she gazed down at the machine, her mind still and lost in the operation of it all. She felt fully and wholly sure of herself and her abilities. She was alert. She was poised. She was completely and utterly prepared in a way that she and Pan both felt innately in their soul.

The alethiometer took its time, of course, but it’s answer came as something of a shock.

It didn’t make any sense, what it said. Lyra stared dumbly down at it, feeling her mouth gape open. Pan craned his neck over to get a better look, too, his tawny eyes narrowing and then widening.

“I don’t understand,” Lyra said after a solid minute or so, her eyes searching the symbols as if she could somehow find another meaning. Her heart started pounding. She felt warm suddenly, and shrugged out of the blanket she had draped over her shoulders.

But,  _ didn’t _ she understand? Lyra frowned. She knew what she was doing by now. She’d figured the alethiometer out. And when had she ever known it to tell her a lie? She’d tested it on some very mundane things, like what she knew about the Master or Mrs. Lonsdale or about historical events that had happened. It told her the truth every single time. 

Then, quite suddenly, more memories started trickling in. The Master’s concerned yet defeated face when he talked to Lyra about Mrs. Coulter. The way Mrs. Coulter flushed ever so slightly when she took Lyra out and about with other people. The pain in Mrs. Coulter’s eyes when Lyra had told her she was happy that she found her. Thorold saying that Mrs. Coulter had just gotten Lyra “back.”

“She’s my mother,” Lyra whispered out loud, finally setting the device down on her lap as she turned her focus instead to gaze at the soft green of the lights. It all made sense. Pan started kneading her lap then as she simply continued to stare ahead of her. 

All of this time, Mrs. Coulter  _ knew.  _ She was Lyra’s mother and had been hiding it from her. Lyra had even  _ asked  _ her at several points if she knew her parents. And she'd said that she didn't. 

_ She's my mother,  _ Lyra thought again, snuggling back into her blanket as Pan came closer to her, peering up at her face. They both didn't quite know what to do or think at this point, but all Lyra could think about and feel was a shattering, new layer of hurt at having been left here and abandoned by her mother,  _ again.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was so hard to write! Even harder than Lyra's grief in the beginning, I think. So apologies for my delay; I've been trying to get into the right brain and emotional space to write this and be fair to Lyra's feelings. I hope this works and that you enjoy it. This story is very special to me and is one of my favorites. I started writing it earlier in August of 2020 when so many things were falling apart, but I had this story to help get me through. So, I am dedicated to keep going with it and to hopefully do these characters justice in this canonically-divergent version of events. :) Thank you so kindly for reading, if you've made it this far!


	18. Sensing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mrs. Coulter begins to more thoroughly contemplate what it is she is doing and giving up. Meanwhile, something surprises her. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW/TW: mid-way through the chapter a child is separated from their daemon. It doesn't go into graphic detail or anything, but just putting it out there as you may be uncomfortable to read it. We do see the child being afraid, kind of like we did in the show with Lyra and the other girl. It's rather dark, but that is the nature of Mrs. Coulter's work. 
> 
> Also, daemon abuse.

**CHAPTER 18**

**Sensing**

Mrs. Coulter was nervous when she hadn't received confirmation that her letter had arrived at the laboratory. 

She'd sent one the very minute she got back to the Station, telling Lyra that she had safely arrived and that she missed her so very much and that she couldn’t  _ wait  _ until they could see each other again. She’d called around and confirmed that the letter had made it to the nearest post office, but no one was able to guarantee delivery, as the laboratory was quite isolated and they were short on staff to run their regular mailings. Mrs. Coulter was impatient about that, as she wanted Lyra to get her letter as soon as possible so that she didn’t think she’d abandoned her.

_ Even though you did,  _ the monkey thought to her, which made Mrs. Coulter stiffen and react more strongly than she'd have liked while she was working and amongst people. 

“We’re sorry, ma’am,” said one of the orderlies as she pressed again why they couldn’t see to the delivery of the letter. “We can’t encourage too much attention or traction here, and the Magisterium only allows the most official correspondence through the hands of Magisterial soldiers.”

“This  _ is  _ official correspondence,” she fumed, clenching her fists. It was drafty in the Station (as it always was) but she felt nothing but heat as she stared the poor man down. The monkey saw him quail just a hair. “It’s official as it’s coming through  _ me.” _

“I apologize, ma’am, but Father MacPh—”

“Is not here, is he?” she said sweetly, deciding perhaps charm would work better than intimidation. This was important, after all, and there was nothing that a little sweetness couldn’t gloss over. “He wouldn’t have to know. You could just alert the ship to make a quick stop for me. You have my permission.”

“I can’t, ma’am,” he said again, and his tone was unfortunately rather  _ absolute  _ as he continued to stare down at the ground. “If Father MacPhail says any differently, then I’ll be sure to alert you. In the meantime we will keep checking in with the post office for you.”

Father MacPhail. Sometimes Mrs. Coulter couldn’t help but feel like that man was single-handedly ruining everything she ever held dear. It was because of  _ him  _ and the suspicions he’d whispered in the Cardinal’s ear that she was here in the first place, seeing to things  _ personally  _ when her staff would be able to suffice with phone calls and directives from her. And it was  _ him _ who mysteriously wrote to “shelter in place” as they awaited further information about the Gyptian movement, and it was  _ him _ controlling her communications with the outside world--or, rather,  _ preventing  _ it. 

He also asked her to “hurry up” her work, as if this was the sort of thing that could be rushed! Science wasn’t a controllable asset. She'd been saying this all along. It wasn’t puddy that could be shaped and molded however the holder pleased. Science was an  _ art  _ as much as it was a science; it requires patience and a certain willingness to wait and see what happens, and perseverance to keep trying when it doesn't work the first couple (or hundred) times. Neither Father MacPhail nor any of these Magisterium officials seemed to understand that, or respect it. And it was because of them that things were going as entirely wrong as they were.

She let the matter of her letter drop, however, as she had limited time and energy that she could expend on such things. As much as she anxiously wanted Lyra to hear from her and know that she  _ didn’t  _ abandon her like the girl probably feared, Mrs. Coulter just couldn’t make it work. She recognized her limitations and her reality, which did not easily align with the dreams and deceptions she’d built up in her head.

_ But aren’t you abandoning her?  _ the golden monkey pressed as they made their way over to the testing room, Mrs. Coulter cradling some notes and books in her arm. He wouldn’t let it go. She stopped mid-step at that, looking down at him.

“No,” she said aloud, her voice fierce and cross. She frowned at him then as he simply continued to gaze up at her.

_ It doesn’t feel that way to her,  _ he insisted as they continued down the corridor a few beats later, the click of her heels echoing around them.  _ All she sees is a woman who promised to keep her safe walking away from her. _

_ Since when are  _ **_you_ ** _ the connoisseur of children’s feelings?  _ she tossed back over to him, swinging the door open. She didn’t bother to see if he’d made it in all the way before she rammed it shut. It almost hit his tail. He’d hustled to make it through on time.

_ I’m not, really,  _ he protested,  _ but I am when it comes to  _ **_your_ ** _ child. How could I not be, the way you obsess over her so? _

_ You’re out of line,  _ she warned him, turning away from him and going over to the control panel. Dr. Cooper muttered some kind of greeting to her but she ignored it. 

_ I am not.  _ He bared his fangs and let out the slightest hint of a growl, too low for anyone else to notice.  _ I feel as you do. I just choose to verbalize it to you. _

_ Stop it.  _ Mrs. Coulter tensed as she took a seat in front of the controls and swiped the paper Dr. Cooper had been looking at.  _ Go make yourself useful and see what’s happening with the mesh chamber. _

Drs. Cooper and Rendal didn’t make for very pleasant or exciting company. Mrs. Coulter was rude to them, so she supposed she couldn’t expect any more than hesitant and wary behavior in return. They worked together in silence, Dr. Cooper programming the computer per Mrs. Coulter’s notes and Dr. Rendal adjusting the physical equipment. After about an hour or so, they were ready for their first test subject since all of their adjustments.

_ Are you sure you’re prepared for this?  _ her daemon asked her, looking up from his place near the side of the machinery down below. Mrs. Coulter grimaced at him, feeling every ounce of his growing hesitation, his doubt, his misgivings, his thoughts of Lyra. It was overwhelming, almost, the way these thoughts trickled in and seemed to lodge themselves permanently in their collective consciousness. 

_ Those aren’t  _ **_my_ ** _ feelings,  _ he thought to her, and she stopped at that, her face slackening as the nurse burst the door open and dragged a child inside. It was the same little girl from the other day, with the wavy blonde hair and the big brown eyes. She was struggling as the nurse brought her in, asking what was happening and what they were doing. The girl’s daemon was being carried delicately by Dr. Rendal, who now threw it into the right chamber and then immediately bolted down the lock to keep it inside.

“Jasper!” the little girl screamed, her voice a shriek as she thrashed around in the nurse’s arms before finally breaking free and then punching the nurse hard in the gut. She used those next few moments to look around, eyes wide and wild, before she caught Mrs. Coulter’s gaze from the other side of the glass.

Hope flared there, briefly, as she recognized the nice, kind woman who had found her all that time ago in London and then had spent time with her now reading and playing and listening to stories. Relief flooded her features. A sense of security seemed to pass through her. Her gaze then slid to Mrs. Coulter’s right and saw the buttons for the machinery, and then she saw how the woman didn’t move and didn’t react. Her brow furrowed and then her eyes widened again as Dr. Rendal reached her and then shoved her into the other mesh chamber, her eyes still locked on Mrs. Coulter before falling to her left to see her daemon trapped in the cage beside her.

_ Mary-Kate,  _ Mrs. Coulter remembered from her file as the engine whizzed on. Screaming broke out and echoed throughout the room a moment later.  _ Ten years old. Very empathetic. Worried about what was happening to other children. Asked researcher what was happening and even worried when researcher seemed upset by her questions. _

She didn’t make it through the procedure. Mrs. Coulter kept staring as Dr. Rendal called out a time of death and reviewed the tapes of her brain activity during the operation. The monkey was watching her carefully from down below, sitting perfectly still on a table.

_ Those weren’t my feelings,  _ he repeated to her when they’d exited the testing room and headed back to their quarters.

_ I know,  _ she simply returned to him, not blinking, not breathing, not doing  _ anything  _ but walk forward toward where she needed to be. Mrs. Coulter felt a tight sensation tickle at her throat. It was very strange. It felt foreign, as well as wrong. It felt like it wasn’t supposed to be there, that it usually  _ wasn't  _ there. 

_ When you saw that little girl, you thought of Lyra.  _

It was too much. When they got into their room, Mrs. Coulter picked him up and then slammed him down hard. It all happened so quickly; suddenly he struck the floor and they both slid to the ground, their shoulders each throbbing with pain as they attempted to regain their balance. She regretted it immediately, but it was too late. The damage was done. She didn’t even have to think about it properly for him to understand what she meant and how she felt, and soon he came crawling closer to her to tentatively touch her hand as it tightly gripped the carpet. 

He kept his distance from her that night, though, as she slept with a bag of ice on her shoulder. She couldn’t sleep. All she could see was wide, terrified brown eyes—but not  _ those  _ brown eyes. Lyra’s eyes, from in the laboratory when she’d realized what Mrs. Coulter meant and that she wouldn’t be staying with her.

_ What if it had been  _ **_her_ ** _ in that machine?  _ Mrs. Coulter dared to ask, to herself and to her daemon. Silence met her then, as the golden monkey seemed reluctant to even react to it. But Mrs. Coulter knew what he would say, if he were willing to say it: if it were Lyra, Mrs. Coulter wouldn't go through with it. She wouldn't be able to face it. 

Yet at the same time…it didn't make her want to stop. She continued staring up at the ceiling as she recalled how  _ empty  _ she felt when it was all the other children. She felt nothing. It was just science. She was only doing what was necessary to solve a bigger problem and address a more systemic cause. But, if it were  _ Lyra _ …if  _ anything  _ was about Lyra...

Her daemon simply kept his distance, offering neither commentary nor comfort. She dwelled in her thoughts a few moments longer before forcing down her walls and eventually drifting off into sleep. 

Mrs. Coulter worked around the clock the next few days to block out any of the angst that still lingered. She busied herself with making adjustments and conducting some research on children and Dust and everything in between. She was making as much progress as she supposed she’d be able to make. Since she couldn’t contact Lyra and was sincerely starting to fear dwelling any more on her daughter while she was at work, Mrs. Coulter distracted herself, taking primary residence in a little closet of an office set close to her chambers.

“There’s someone coming in, ma’am,” said one of the orderlies one day, bursting into the office and bowing apologetically.

“What do you mean?” she snapped, rolling her eyes at the intrusion and going back to her paperwork. The golden monkey fidgeted uncomfortably on the back of her chair, eying the daemon-less man carefully. She was content to ignore him, as she was writing up the last of her calculations that should finally improve the procedure, but something about his demeanor upset the monkey and made Mrs. Coulter pay him attention more fully.

“There’s a pair of people, on foot, headed this way.”

_ Pair of people?  _ That was preposterous, Mrs. Coulter thought, brushing aside the monkey’s worrying. Lyra and Thorold were safe at the lab in Svalbard. That was hundreds of miles away and  _ not  _ something they could traverse by foot. It couldn’t possibly be them, because they  _ also  _ didn’t know where she was.

“Who are they?”

“We can’t tell, ma’am. They’re still too far away.”

“Well, you heard what Father MacPhail reported in his letter,” she sighed, crumpling a piece of scrap paper and tossing it into the fire. “No visitors. You must see them off.”

“Yes, ma’am. Of course.”

Mrs. Coulter thought that would be the end of it. Two scavengers lost in the wilderness, likely too old to be of any use to them and thus quite easily disposable. People froze to death in the North all the time, of course. Whoever they were and wherever they came from, it would be perfectly feasible for them to have vanished to their deaths out here in the literal middle of nowhere.

She finished her work and set it aside for the day, dropping off her papers in the lab itself. As she did so, she  _ also  _ had to shake off all the monkey’s increasing intensity of feelings.

_ You’re anxious about it.  _ She closed her eyes, not wanting to hear it, but his thoughts bled involuntarily through every single one of hers.  _ You don’t know if this new process will be better. _

_ It has to be,  _ she returned, pushing in her chair and grabbing her bag. It was very late by now. All the children and probably most of the staff were sleeping for the night already. The halls were quiet as she made her way back to her chambers.

It really did have to be better. Mrs. Coulter had done everything she could possibly think of. She’d conducted qualitative research with the children, getting a sense of their histories and personalities and comparing it to the children who had already been severed. She’d seen to the replacement of the blade, sure that the edge was still made of the special steel that could cut through even the finest of materials. She’d recalibrated the equipment and would in the morning make sure that aligned with her calculations. And as if all of that wasn’t enough, she’d even read up about the nature of human psychology and children anatomy, and was prepared to examine the children after the new separation process.

“This is so much work,” she sighed aloud, entering her bedroom and sliding off her earrings and her rings before tossing them onto the bedside table. Father MacPhail had given her an impossible task, to figure out and fix whatever was happening in three weeks or less. It was approaching two weeks and she’d done her best. Now she awaited the “trial and error” portion of science, which was never kind or convenient for any scientist. And so much was at stake, too, with the operations of her program as well as her relationship with Lyra. 

Just as Mrs. Coulter had changed into her cream nightgown and begun moisturizing her face, again an orderly disrupted her, this time opening the door and charging inside. 

_ “What  _ is the meaning of this?” she snapped, crossing her arms across her chest and glaring at him. The golden monkey snarled, too, as the man hurriedly lowered his gaze and held his hands behind his back. “Do you normally break into women's bed chambers in the middle of the night?”

“I’m so sorry, ma’am, but it’s just...the intruders. Someone's arrived.”

“What do you mean ‘arrived’?” Mrs. Coulter repeated, glaring at him. “We told you not to let anyone enter.” 

Mrs. Coulter was getting very impatient now. These people were  _ idiots.  _ Complete and utter fools unable to follow even the simplest and clearest of directions. How had they been hired? Was  _ this  _ perhaps the reason why everything around this damned place was falling apart?

“But it was a child, ma’am,” the man started.

_ A child,  _ both Mrs. Coulter and the monkey processed. While he wondered, she didn't. There were a lot of children in the world, of course. This was nothing novel. 

“So?" she spat. "Then throw the child in with the rest.”

“You see, ma’am, this child, she...seems to know you.”

Everything stopped just then. Mrs. Coulter dropped the container she was holding to gaze closely at the man’s face. He was sweating now, from the heat of his furs and also from the intensity of her stare. The monkey sat completely still from his perch on the bed, too, his tail straight out behind him as he glowered at the man, beady black eyes narrowed.

_ It couldn’t be,  _ she began, and she felt the monkey’s waves of alarm.

“She?” she said slowly, aware of her own heart pounding so fiercely from her chest that it might burst.

“Y-yes,” the man stammered, “a little girl who claims to know you.”

“What’s her name?” Mrs. Coulter demanded. Suddenly her left hand was on the monkey’s neck, and she was pressing her nails down.

“She...said you’d  _ know,”  _ the man answered, and Mrs. Coulter gasped, feeling every ounce of tension come to a head in her system.

_ Lyra.  _ Here, at the Station. When a group of self-righteous fools were on their way over at this very moment and Mrs. Coulter hadn’t yet finished what she came here to do. 

_ I told you this wouldn’t end well,  _ her daemon thought to her, although he felt the sting his words had caused and cringed as she pressed her nails in deeper. It hit his skin and Mrs. Coulter tensed at the contact and the pain and the rush. 

“Is she alone?”

"Yes, ma'am."

"Earlier you'd said there were  _ two  _ people approaching."

"The other person has since disappeared. It's only the girl."

"I see."

Mrs. Coulter needed to catch her breath for a moment as she took this in. Lyra, alone, although formerly accompanied by someone else. Who could it have possibly been? Thorold was the only person in any vicinity to her. Did he...not  _ make  _ it, if she were here alone? 

This didn't make any sense. It made no sense  _ at all  _ in any way, shape, or form. And Mrs. Coulter desperately wanted it to make even some kind of sense. 

"Where is she?" 

“We left her in the holding room, ma’am. We wanted to check with you before we let her in further.”

“Very well,” Mrs. Coulter sighed, and with that she released the golden monkey. She felt relief overwhelm her then, as well as a sense of coldness and emptiness as the revelation of these events still swirled through her thoughts. Her daemon craned his neck up at her, eyes locked onto hers, and she simply took in a deep breath as she went over to the other side of the bed and put on her overcoat, wrapping it around her shoulders. “Let’s go, then. Just  _ please  _ make sure  _ all  _ the children are locked in their dorms right now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I know this chapter was darker than others given the child separation business, but it's a key part of Marisa's work and character and I thought it had to be addressed: yes, she separates children from their daemons. It's awful. And she knows exactly what she's doing. She feels weird about it when it comes to thinking about Lyra, but she still understands what she's doing and chooses to do it.
> 
> Anyway, the action is picking up again now! I've been drafting up the ending, which will eventually be upon us (not exactly sure when, but I hope for it not to be dragged out too much!). I have enjoyed writing this story for the raw grief we get to see given this drastic turn of events, as well as seeing Mrs. Coulter and Lyra grow closer as a result. <3


	19. Reconciliation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mrs. Coulter finds herself face-to-face with Lyra again.

**CHAPTER 19**

**Reconciliation**

****

The first thing Mrs. Coulter noticed when she saw Lyra was how  _ cold  _ she looked. 

Lyra was sitting down on a bench as Mrs. Coulter entered the little holding room located just outside the Station's entrance. The girl’s knees were pulled up to her chin and her arms were hugging them tightly as Pan sat on her shoulder as a snowy white ermine, his muzzle pressing against her neck. She didn't seem to know that Mrs. Coulter was there. She was shivering slightly, her body undergoing little shakes, and she looked so strikingly pale. The orderly who had been waiting with her nodded before leaving and closing the door behind him. Lyra looked up at that moment, her dark eyes locking with Mrs. Coulter's. 

Something was wrong. Mrs. Coulter felt it in the air before Lyra even narrowed her eyes and grimaced at her. It was sticky and putrid, this  _ tension  _ bubbling so hotly between them. It overwhelmed Mrs. Coulter. She'd seldom felt anything more uncomfortable in her life, where something foul and painful so glaringly  _ struck  _ her and assaulted her. And  _ especially _ not with Lyra, her stubborn and cheerful companion for these past few months. Mrs. Coulter's throat tightened in a way she wasn't accustomed to, in a way she wasn't prepared for. She imagined she'd have to confront Lyra about their time apart, but she didn't think it'd be so soon. And still she wondered how she even arrived here, and what had happened. 

_ Just look at what you’ve done,  _ her daemon sneered in her mind. He wasn't pleased with the turn of events, of course. He'd been warning her about this for a very long time. He  _ knew  _ this wouldn’t end well. She felt the coldness seep through from him, the indignation and the smugness and the piercing  _ sadness  _ that came from realizing he was right. 

"Lyra," she simply let out as she came closer, stopping just a few feet away. Nothing. Lyra offered her nothing. She didn't flinch, didn't lean away, didn't twitch her nose—absolutely nothing. This wasn’t like her. Something was very and deeply  _ wrong. _

What was Mrs. Coulter supposed to say now? That it was "good to see her" or something ridiculous? Lyra wasn't supposed to be here. Both of them knew that. Mrs. Coulter didn't even know  _ how  _ Lyra found her, although perhaps she shouldn't have underestimated her. And, despite the strong wave of happiness that had surged through her when she saw the girl, Mrs. Coulter  _ wasn't  _ particularly happy to see her here. The Station was  _ not _ a place she should be. 

"You—you're so cold," Mrs. Coulter said, and the concern in her voice wasn't false. Lyra continued to shake as the minutes dragged on, her shoulders cowering and her frame shrinking as her daemon huddled closer to her. After hesitating for the slightest moment, Mrs. Coulter shrugged out of her overcoat (which was lined with sheep's wool) and moved to drape it around Lyra's shoulders. 

But Lyra pulled back and away from her, eyes suddenly hard at the brief contact. 

"Lyra," Mrs. Coulter insisted, feeling the impatience run its way through to her tone. "You're shaking. You need to warm up. How long have you been outside?" 

Of course she didn't say anything, so Mrs. Coulter sighed and then sat down on the bench beside her, moving in to quickly wrap the overcoat around her thin frame before she could refuse. Lyra squirmed as she did so but gave Mrs. Coulter such a  _ look  _ that she felt rooted to the spot. There was pain nestled there, as well as confusion. And, if Mrs. Coulter weren't mistaken, some nestled  _ rage  _ and betrayal that was biting against concession.

"Lyra," Mrs. Coulter breathed then, gingerly moving to place her hand on the side of Lyra's face. She didn't pull away this time, and Mrs. Coulter could feel how  _ chilled  _ her face was. "How did you get here, darling? How did you find me? I know you've come a very long way."

"I know who you are." The statement was flat and direct as Lyra turned to her and looked her directly in the eye. Her voice shook with a certain kind of passion Mrs. Coulter had never heard from her before. 

"Pardon?" Mrs. Coulter asked, smiling lightly, as if her false sense of politeness could somehow help the situation. She placed her hand on Lyra's shoulder, too, adjusting the overcoat back so it covered her. Her touch was soft, gentle. But it did nothing to ease the situation. 

"I know who you  _ are,"  _ Lyra repeated, her voice stronger now. It was eerily silent between them. "Who you are to  _ me. _ "

Time seemed to absolutely freeze as Mrs. Coulter continued gazing down at Lyra coolly, her eyes taking in the wild tangle of curls at her scalp and the way her body still shook from the cold. She looked over at Pan, too, who was still cuddled snugly against Lyra’s neck but looking at Mrs. Coulter,  _ his  _ eyes also intense and probing.

Surely she didn't  _ know.  _ It was preposterous, for Lyra to  _ know.  _

_ Does she look preposterous to you?  _ the monkey asked. He was over by the door, sitting away from her by way of protest. He still didn't forgive her, and she didn't expect him to, but she realized just then how much she would  _ need  _ him if what he was thinking was true. And she suddenly felt just a little bit colder. 

"What do you mean?" she asked, impressed with how her voice didn't waiver. But she found it hard to control her  _ hands,  _ which started trembling ever so slightly—the one still on Lyra's shoulder and the other sitting loosely in her lap. She tried to still them, willing herself to relax and to focus and to detach herself from everything around her, but it wasn't working. Something just felt so  _ wrong  _ in the air between them. Lyra's eyes moved from her face to the hand in her lap before they snapped back again. 

"Why can't you say it?" Lyra asked, voice quivering now not with fear or sadness but  _ rage,  _ actual rage. Was Mrs. Coulter hearing that right? She wanted to look over at the golden monkey but she stopped, as she remembered he wasn't readily here and she couldn't find a way to escape Lyra's gaze. The child held her there in place, her will as strong as any current Mrs. Coulter had ever felt.

Mrs. Coulter said nothing. She felt locked in place, as if speaking or responding would trigger some kind of trap and crush her in place. The best she could do was raise her eyebrows, staring intensely at Lyra.

"Say it!" Lyra yelled then, and now she sounded upset. Tears were pooling in her eyes as she twisted around so that she was completely facing Mrs. Coulter. Lyra's knees brushed against her thighs, even, as Mrs. Coulter remained completely and utterly stuck. "Why won't you  _ say  _ it! Why didn't you  _ tell  _ me!" 

The tears fell in earnest now as the two continued to stare at one another, Mrs. Coulter stoic and Lyra wild and desperate for something,  _ anything  _ to come from the woman. But Mrs. Coulter just couldn't give it to her. The words couldn't formulate, not in her mind or her throat. All she could do was so strongly  _ feel  _ everything around her—Lyra's anger, the monkey's loathing, the chill of the room, the firm surface of the bench, the way her mind seemed to float just outside of her body before she came back to her senses. 

"Lyra," she eventually choked out. Her mouth gaped as she gazed at her child from ear to ear, not able to do anything else. She simply stared, eyes hungry yet voice empty.

Lyra's chest heaved with a great sob, and she wiped her running nose with the sleeve of Mrs. Coulter's overcoat still wrapped around her before crying out: "You're my  _ mother.  _ I can't believe you didn't  _ tell  _ me."

And she barreled into Mrs. Coulter at that, crying and batting at her. She was a force of nature, this child, Mrs. Coulter's  _ own  _ child, as her still-shivering body launched against hers. All Mrs. Coulter could do was let her, closing her eyes and loosely wrapping her arms around Lyra as the child scratched and hit and lunged and then fell against her. Not too long ago, Mrs. Coulter might have snapped at this. She might have slapped Lyra hard across the face and dragged her by the ear to demand obedience and compliance. But now all she could do was hold her tight, feeling herself start sobbing, too.

_ What are you going to do now? _ Her daemon asked her, coolly, as Lyra continued to cry over the thing Mrs. Coulter still didn't have it in her to say--not at Jordan, not during all those months in London, and not even now. 

"I never meant to harm you," she all but whispered, running her fingers through a strand of Lyra's curls. 

And she didn't. All this time, Mrs. Coulter only wanted what was best for Lyra, even if it didn't seem like it. Giving her up in the first place was, truly, what was best for her. How could Mrs. Coulter have provided a good life for Lyra given the predicament she was in, a widow with a child out of wedlock? It wouldn't have worked. She didn't have a choice. Lyra was better off the way that she was, growing up half-wild and without the whispers surrounding her. Even if Mrs. Coulter disliked the College, it was still a safer option for her.  _ Asriel  _ had been a safer option for her, as rugged and distant as he was. He'd never  _ hurt  _ her like Mrs. Coulter herself had done, because he'd never been there to get the girl's hopes up. 

It was all too much for the both of them. Mrs. Coulter hadn't initially thought Lyra would be able to handle the truth of her parentage and the uncovering of lies. And Mrs. Coulter still believed that. Lyra's reaction  _ now  _ only proved how sensitive this issue was indeed. How could it not be? How could it  _ ever  _ be easy? 

Lyra surfaced from her lap after a few more moments to stare at her face. "But you  _ did." _

"I know."

Lyra continued to look at her, look  _ through  _ her as her eyes moved over every feature of her face again again. Those dark eyes asked all of the questions Lyra herself couldn't, and that Mrs. Coulter couldn't bear to answer. They swarmed between them, these unaskable and unanswerable questions. Mrs. Coulter could almost choke on them. 

"And my father?" Lyra asked after what felt like hours. Her eyes were still so pained yet so pure. Hopeful, almost. The monkey grunted from his place by the door as Mrs. Coulter stiffened, bracing herself for the inevitable. "Who is he?" 

Oh, the  _ feeling  _ that coursed through Mrs. Coulter's chest! It was like water surging through an opened floodgate. Months of suppressed emotion and angst seemed to wash over her then as she stared down at Lyra. She caught herself blinking rapidly before feeling the warm tear slide town her cheek steadily toward the bottom of her chin. It surprised her, as well as surprised Lyra and Pan. They all looked at one another, completely stiff.

"Of course."

That was Pan, and Lyra inhaled sharply before twisting to look at him on the other side of the bench. He was in his cat form now and crawled into her lap as he sniffed at Mrs. Coulter accusatorily. 

"It can't be, Pan," Lyra murmured aloud, and then she glanced sideways at Mrs. Coulter, her gaze practically  _ piercing.  _ "Surely Mrs. Coulter wouldn't have been lyin' about Uncle Asriel all this time, too. She's better than that, right?"

If it all weren't entirely serious, Mrs. Coulter would laugh at the cruel irony of it all. Lyra, her daughter, her own flesh and blood, wielding the tools of manipulation as if they were built entirely for her. Child mimicking the parent in ways they didn't even realize. It was too rich. 

"Well?" Lyra said, for she was getting impatient again. But still Mrs. Coulter looked to see how  _ cold  _ she was. Her face was flushed from her thrashing and her argument, but she still looked so weak. Even weaker now, actually. 

"Darling," Mrs. Coulter began, "I really want to get you inside. You need a bath. You need warm food. You need to sleep." 

The girl's eyes hardened. "You won't even admit it, will you."

Mrs. Coulter felt defensive all of a sudden, as her neck flushed and she felt something more resembling anger surge through her. She needed to stay calm, though, as losing her temper with Lyra never seemed to work out in her favor. "I'm not saying I won't answer your questions. Can we please just make sure you're taken care of first? And then maybe you can answer some of  _ my  _ questions, like how you got here?" 

"What even  _ is  _ this place anyway?" Lyra wondered aloud, and at that Mrs. Coulter wondered if she had her, if Lyra’s curiosity and sense of adventure could even temporarily overshadow the hatred she held for Mrs. Coulter during this moment. 

_ That means you'd have to tell her, though,  _ the monkey countered. Mrs. Coulter froze again, looking down at Lyra who was now so quiet as she looked around her at the room with its high ceilings and steel-covered windows. She was shivering again, now that she wasn't consumed by her rage. Mrs. Coulter felt such a conflicting sensation of fear wash over her then—fear for Lyra's physical condition and fear at what would happen if she ever,  _ ever  _ found out. It was hard to tell in that moment which fear was strongest.

"Let me first get you taken care of," Mrs. Coulter offered, standing and ushering for Lyra to get up. The girl hesitated, narrowing her eyes, but slowly rose after exchanging a whisper with Pan. 

"And then you'll tell me?" Lyra demanded.

"I will," Mrs. Coulter said, as if she were promising, as if she really meant it, as if she were a person who could actually be trusted to tell the full  _ truth  _ about such matters.

"You're lying," Lyra accused, but she was tired. Mrs. Coulter could see it in her eyes as she struggled to keep them focused. And she was still so cold. She swayed, even, as she went to move forward, her little body practically failing her.

"Come here, darling," Mrs. Coulter said, and then she slipped her arms around the girl and held her tight. Lyra didn't argue as Mrs. Coulter ushered her forward over to the door. Pan stayed on her shoulder but avoided Mrs. Coulter's touch as they progressed into the building, his ears drooping with Lyra’s shoulders slumping. 

The hallways were deserted, as Mrs. Coulter had instructed. There was no one to be seen as she led Lyra away through the back door of the canteen. It emptied directly into the kitchen.

"Where  _ are  _ we?" Lyra pressed, but Mrs. Coulter only shushed her as she went into the ice box and pulled out a jar of milk to heat on the stove. She grabbed some other things, too—a couple apples, some hard boiled eggs, a package of cheese—before returning to the simmering milk. Lyra was sitting in a chair nearby, her eyes dropping and head dipping as she seemed to doze off. 

As Mrs. Coulter poured the steaming liquid into a mug, she added something  _ else.  _ She quickly opened up a little package she had in her pocket, which contained an assortment of herbs. The golden monkey growled in her thoughts as she took a pinch of it and stirred it in, the entire process lasting no more than two seconds.

_ Are you sure about this?  _ he asked her, eyes hard as he watched from the other end of the little kitchen island. 

Mrs. Coulter wasn't. She knew it was wrong, to be doing this to her daughter, her own  _ daughter.  _ She hadn’t hesitated and she didn’t regret, but she did  _ feel  _ something almost resembling guilt as she continued to stir the liquid. Lyra needed to calm down. She needed to be tucked away for a bit as Mrs. Coulter figured out what happened and what to do next as those gyptians inched closer and closer. 

It was a temporary fix, really, Mrs. Coulter reasoned. She roused Lyra from her sleep and fed her some slices of apple and cheese. She watched her devour it in only a few bites before she handed her the milk, half-picking her up and urging her forward as she took her over to her chambers. 

Lyra was starting to feel the effects after Mrs. Coulter had given her a proper bath and dressed her in the warmest of children's clothes she could find. 

"'M so tired," Lyra yawned as they returned to Mrs. Coulter's chambers. She was still shivering slightly, even as Mrs. Coulter had wrapped one of her own fur coats around her. The girl floated over to the bed and sat down, her body practically melting into it. 

"Just rest now, dear," Mrs. Coulter shushed, coming to her side and pulling her down on the bed. Lyra didn't protest. She fell down and allowed Mrs. Coulter to guide her. "You're so tired. You've had such a long day."

"But I have...questions," Lyra mumbled, although she tucked her legs up around her as Mrs. Coulter pulled back the covers and then enveloped her in them. 

"Later, my love," Mrs. Coulter crooned, placing a light kiss on her forehead. She moved her hand to Lyra’s hair, which she stroked slowly and gingerly as she’d done the very first night she put Lyra to bed back at Jordan. Presently Lyra drifted off into a deep, uninterrupted sleep, her breathing deepening and her daemon curling around her neck. Mrs. Coulter watched her for a few moments before sighing, slowly rising from the bed. 

_ Where to now?  _ her daemon asked her cautiously as he watched her from his place beside the closet.

  
Mrs. Coulter simply looked down at him, her eyes still so exhausted but fastened intently in this moment. "To  _ deal  _ with it." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The reunion I've longed for 🥺 I'm excited to keep writing (although I think we are nearing the end). Thank you so much for reading!!!

**Author's Note:**

> "The Duty of the Old" taken from the chat between the Master and Librarian at the beginning of The Golden Compass, which is one of my favorite quotes from the entire series: "That's the duty of the old, to be anxious on behalf of the young. And the duty of the young is to scorn the anxiety of the old."


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